


The Next Sensation

by astolat



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Consent Issues, F/M, M/M, Multi, USENET, anne rice bdsm, historical curiosities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1994-01-01
Updated: 1994-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-25 22:15:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/643511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astolat/pseuds/astolat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These four TNG stories were originally posted to USENET almost twenty years ago and are my earliest published fanfic! I do warn you, they're quite flawed to my eyes now and the original notes are super-mockable, so, caveat lector in many many ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Starfleet Discipline


     
    Star Trek: The Next Sensation 
     
    Episode 1: Starfleet Discipline 
     
    PLEASE NOTE!!! 
     
    The following short story is rated NC-17, with _very_ good reason. It  
    is meant for adult readers with open minds (and a healthy lust for  
    Jean-Luc Picard won't hurt either.) This is erotica rather than science  
    fiction and also contains a bit of mild S&M similar in kind to the  
    _Beauty_ erotica trilogy by Anne Rice, so consider yourself  
    forewarned!  
     
    I want to give credit to two other wonderful writers whose work  
    gave me the nerve to actually write & post this piece: Kellie  
    Matthews-Simmons, author of _Points of View_, and the Phantom,  
    author of _The Delightful Education of Julien Bashir_.  
     
    You are welcome to pass this story around, just don't make money off it 
    (right, I wish!) 
     
     
    Paramount is wholly non-responsible for this story, and all standard  
    disclaimers apply.  
    Star Trek and its characters are registered trade marks of  
    Paramount, Inc. 
    Copyright 1994, the lady of shalott 
     
    All Rights Reserved 
     
    This is what _might_ have happened at the beginning of Descent,  
    Part 1, if Starfleet had _slightly_ ;) different rules... 
    *  *  * 
    "We'll speak in your ready room, Captain," snapped Vice- 
    Admiral Nechayev immediately upon exiting the turbolift, clearly in  
    no fine mood. Will Riker winced sympathetically at Jean-Luc Picard,  
    who looked grim as he followed her off the bridge.  Riker turned to  
    look at Deanna inquiringly, who shook her head meaningfully.  
     
    "She wouldn't really... would she?" asked Will. 
     
    "All I can tell you is she is _very_ angry," Deanna said soberly.  
    "And she is known as a stickler for... discipline." 
    
    *  *  * 
     
    Picard swallowed hard as Nechayev pulled a riding crop out of  
    her uniform and began slapping it against her palm. "Tell me,  
    Captain. Exactly what went on in your mind when you let that Borg  
    go instead of sending the entire collective to kingdom come?" she  
    asked in a deceptively sweet tone as she paced the length of the  
    room.  
     
    "I'm sure you've read my report," he began, only to be  
    interrupted. 
     
    "You're quite right. And I am hoping--for your sake--that you  
    have a better explanation for me than that drivel about his  
    individualism!" she spat.  
     
    _Better get it over with,_ he thought grimly. "No, Admiral, I  
    don't," Picard stated quietly. "And I firmly believe that the cause was  
    sufficient." 
     
    "Do you. Well, Captain, do you 'firmly believe' in following  
    orders or is that infringing on your individualism?" 
     
    He glared at her.  "If I didn't believe in following orders,  
    Admiral, I wouldn't be here." 
     
    "You're here to serve the interests of the Federation! Maybe  
    you need to be reminded of what that means. I intend to make sure  
    that you don't forget it again. Take the position, 'Captain.' " she  
    ordered, her tone icy.  
     
    Even though he'd suspected her intent, he was still stunned. He  
    hadn't been "disciplined" in nine years! And then it had been by the  
    Admiral of Starfleet, not a Vice-Admiral who was younger than he  
    was. Clenching his teeth, he turned his back to her, facing the desk,  
    and unfastened his uniform trousers. Baring his flesh, he assumed  
    disciplinary stance--legs apart, planted firmly, his torso bent forward  
    over the table, and his firm backside completely exposed. 
     
    Nechayev tossed her uniform jacket onto the sofa and stood to  
    his left. Picard's buttocks were muscular and hard, and unmarked as  
    well, revealing that it had been a long time since his last disciplining.  
    His silent indignation had tightened all his muscles, and she was  
    looking forward to making him lose control of them. She loved  
    disciplining--one of the reasons she'd had a hard time giving up her  
    captain's chair. There was simply less opportunity as an Admiral--so  
    she would just make the most of this one, she thought, licking her  
    lips in anticipation.  
     
    "How long has it been since you were disciplined?" she inquired  
    in a casual tone. 
     
    "Nine years," he said shortly. 
     
    He wasn't prepared for the crack of the crop against his flesh.  
    His whole body jerked in response, which lack of control was  
    immediately punished with five hard, fast blows. Nechayev was  
    pleased to note that he was holding himself perfectly still by the fifth  
    blow--she preferred those with more control to overcome. The whip  
    had raised marks on his tender flesh, but more were still to come.  
     
    "Nine years, sir." she softly instructed. 
     
    "Nine years, *sir*!" 
     
    "Far too long. You clearly need a dose of good old-fashioned  
    Starfleet discipline. I can't believe not one Admiral in Starfleet has  
    taken the trouble to make sure you weren't... losing your edge," she  
    said warmly, licking a finger and soothingly tracing the weals she  
    had just inflicted. "Perhaps they felt... *sorry* for you. Perhaps I  
    should be easy on you as well. After all, you have suffered a great  
    deal in the service of the Fleet." 
     
    He stiffened angrily at the suggestion. "I don't want your  
    damned pity--sir! I can take discipline as well as any one," he  
    snapped.  
     
    "Good," she whispered into his ear, the warm breath faintly  
    tickling. "Because I don't pity you, Picard--except that no one's taken  
    the effort to discipline you properly. However, that mistake ends  
    right here and now. Starfleet needs strong, disciplined captains, and I  
    intend to make certain that you stay among that number, my dear  
    Captain." She kissed his cheek tenderly and stood.  
     
    The hard leather began to rise and fall again, the rhythmic  
    sound of the crop's contact with his flesh forming a counterpoint to  
    his increasingly labored breathing. Picard realized he had forgotten  
    what discipline felt like; the hot soreness on his buttocks that would  
    last for days, his body's uncontrollable urge to rock with the blows.  
    The hard final blow elicited a short gasp from him and a soft laugh  
    from her.  
     
    "Good," she whispered into his ear, letting her lips almost touch  
    it. "I want to hear you _beg_ for release, Picard," she continued,  
    reaching for his cock and squeezing it gently but firmly, rubbing her  
    thumb over the head. Still holding his shaft, she began to pump it,  
    bringing the crop down with every squeeze.  
     
    The pleasure and pain began to mingle, the heat of each  
    sensation spreading and merging. Panting, he involuntarily started to  
    thrust, and she altered the pattern of blows to meet his buttocks as  
    they rose and squeezed him as he thrust downward into her hand.  
    "Maybe I should stop," she hissed, letting her tongue slide out to  
    trace the outlines of his ear. "Maybe you're not strong enough to take  
    proper discipline. Well? Shall I stop, Captain?" she asked and  
    punctuated with a hard squeeze. 
     
    "No..." he gritted, forcing himself to hold still despite the  
    delicious tingling in his ear that sent shivers through him. _I'm  
    *damned* if I'll give her the satisfaction of hearing me beg!_ he  
    thought.  
     
    She whipped two more blows across him. "*What* did you  
    say?" she demanded, sliding the leather between his legs, roughly  
    abrading his balls as she tightened her grip on his penis. 
     
    "No, *sir*," he snarled, his whole body trembling with the  
    controlled urge to pull out of that painful grasp. Just when the  
    pleasure had almost dissolved, she suddenly put the crop aside and  
    loosened her hand. Pressing against his side, she began to caress and  
    stroke his sex tenderly, gently pressing her thumb into the head as  
    he hardened and swelled, coaxing moisture out of him. He shivered  
    slightly with pleasure, unsure of how to take the change of pace.  
    More than a few of his officers had used the excuse of discipline to  
    take their pleasure with him in the past, but Nechayev had seemed  
    so serious... Under the caresses, he began to relax. _She doesn't really  
    want to discipline me,_ he told himself, allowing himself to enjoy the  
    stimulating touch. _She's just putting up a front because she wants to  
    have me._ 
     
    "Mmm," she murmured into his ear, licking the fluid from a  
    finger. "I wouldn't mind tasting more of you, Picard..." she paused,  
    feeling the jump his cock gave at the suggestion, and smiled. After  
    she judged that he had convinced himself that she simply desired  
    him, she added, "...but I don't think you deserve that." His sharp  
    inhalation told her how cruelly effective her teasing had been.  
     
    She stopped the stimulation and sat down on the couch, laying  
    the crop across her thighs. "Stand up," she ordered. He stood proudly  
    erect, head held high, shoulders in true military stance, eyes staring  
    straight ahead. "Good. That's the kind of discipline that a Starfleet  
    captain should have," she commended. "But you've barely been  
    punished yet. We'll see how you hold up under more rigorous  
    challenges." Reclining back against the cushions, she smiled. "Take off  
    your uniform. Slowly." 
     
    "Of course. Sir," he snapped, eyes glittering with frustration and  
    anger. He placed the communicator on the table, then deliberately  
    shrugged out of the jacket, leaving him clad only in the gray uniform  
    shirt. Undoing the fastening, he stripped it off, revealing his well- 
    defined torso, the arms corded with muscle and faintly laced with  
    veins.  
     
    "Very nice," she murmured approvingly. He paused to shoot  
    her a glare before bending to slip off the low uniform boots. Standing  
    up, he let the trousers fall to the floor and stepped out of them. A  
    pleased smile curved her lips as she admired the body now fully  
    exposed to her view, the hard shaft jutting out of a nest of hair like a  
    banner. His muscles fairly trembling with tension, he felt hot color  
    flood his cheeks from the humiliation of being subjected to her  
    thorough survey. To be helpless, submissive--the sensation was  
    dramatically alien to him, and dreadfully bewildering. Her smile  
    widened as she witnessed the evidence of his confusion. 
     
    "My poor captain," she laughed gently. "You so desperately  
    need a strong hand on your reins--and you want it, too. Your body  
    knows your needs even though your mind may resist." His cock was  
    warm and pulsating in her grasp now, pleasure radiating outward  
    into him from the contact.  
     
    _He is a _fine_ figure of a man_ she admitted to herself. This  
    disciplining was even more enjoyable than she had expected, even  
    with all the gossip about him that generally floated around the Fleet.  
    Her cleft already wet, her clitoris throbbing noticeably, it was hard to  
    resist the temptation to abort the punishment in favor of simply  
    satisfying her body's desires. Then a new idea struck her.  
     
    Her eyes gleamed wickedly. "I must admit, I do find you...  
    stimulating." She saw the shock and unwilling hunger aroused in him  
    as she spread her thighs apart and began to stroke herself through  
    the uniform. She released his cock, which had swollen even further  
    at the display, and began to caress her breasts, all the while  
    devouring him with her eyes. He dragged his eyes away, chest  
    heaving with audible breaths, but she pulled his attention back  
    quickly with a soft sound of pleasure. Her uniform was getting wet;  
    she held her fingers against a sensitive spot and thrust against them,  
    rotating her hips... heat was blooming within her, and she focused on  
    him, on the hard male body ready and eager for anything she could  
    wish, on the firm cock clearly aching to bury itself in her warm  
    depths and satisfy her as her fingers could not. Gasping faintly, she  
    stood and pressed her sex against his in one swift motion--Picard  
    groaned deeply, clasping her hips and pulling her closer, reaching for  
    the opening to her uniform mindlessly.  
     
    She seized the hand with lightning speed. "I don't recall giving  
    you an order to do that, captain." He stared at her blankly, the sexual  
    need blazing in his eyes leaving little room for rational thought. The  
    statement penetrated at last and anger swept through him again,  
    only to be replaced by another kind of heat almost instantly as she  
    rubbed herself against him.  
     
    "I want to see you keep that lovely body of yours straight and  
    still, Picard. Remember, you are not here to enjoy yourself," she  
    informed him huskily, still using his sex to stimulate her own  
    pleasure, brushing her firm nipples across his chest. He closed his  
    eyes and clenched his jaw tightly in agony, fighting the urge to beg  
    her to let him please her, fill her with his manhood. How easily she'd  
    brought him to the edge of utter submission astonished him. And  
    then he was hovering on the edge of a climax, her use of him, in his  
    aroused state, stimulating enough to send him over... he caught his  
    breath in anticipation of the coming flood, only to suddenly be bereft  
    of her warmth and touch.  
     
    She struggled to compose herself. What had possessed her to  
    bring him so close to fulfilment? Only his single, betraying inhalation  
    had saved her. Throwing her head back, she seized control of herself  
    again. "No! You haven't earned release yet, Picard. That's not what  
    you need." 
     
    Quickly, she turned him around and pushed him firmly over  
    the table yet again, reaching for the rest of his manhood. She  
    outlined the orbs of his testicles, weighing the soft sac in her hand,  
    then stroked back from them to his punished buttocks and inserted a  
    finger, lubricated with his own juices, into him. "What you need is to  
    be *severely* disciplined." She continued to probe him roughly, and  
    used her other hand to pinch his reddened buttocks. A gasp  
    accompanied his muscles as they instinctively tightened in an effort  
    to close her out, and she quickly grabbed the crop and smacked his  
    cheeks so hard he jumped. 
     
    "How dare you try to refuse discipline? Open yourself right  
    now," Nechayev ordered furiously. He slowly forced himself to relax  
    the tight muscles and prepared himself for her to reinsert the finger.  
    Suddenly a hot painful shock ran through him as she rammed the  
    thick handle of the crop up into his tender opening. He swallowed a  
    cry of pain as she forced it further up into him, the unaccustomed  
    sensation of penetration awaking dormant nerve endings. Cruelly  
    forcing it inward, she didn't stop until all fifteen centimeters of the  
    handle were encased in his flesh. 
     
    "Keep those muscles tight now, Captain. I don't want to see that  
    crop waver at all." She returned her attention to his hard cock, which  
    hadn't softened at all despite the pain. "I'm glad to see you kept your  
    shaft hard. Maybe you have retained some discipline after all," she  
    said approvingly, feeling him pulse in her hands but careful not to  
    give him the stimulation that he craved to free his climax. A  
    delightful thought struck her then. "Let's see if you also remember  
    how to service a senior officer." 
     
    As she seated herself on the table and opened her own uniform  
    just enough to allow him access to her sex, he stared at her, trying to  
    form the words to refuse. No senior officer had to service another,  
    performing fellatio for their pleasure--that was a duty reserved for  
    ensigns, and he hadn't serviced anyone for more than forty years!  
    _No! I will not humiliate myself willingly for her!_ he told himself.  
     
    But she was already spreading her thighs, and there were the  
    rosy folds, nestled in soft dark blonde curls, so tantalizingly wet, the  
    musky female scent of her body urging him to plumb her depths. He  
    swallowed desperately, then a hot stab of the crop in his buttocks as  
    he shifted his weight decided him--he wanted revenge for that  
    violation, to hear her moan, hear her beg him for more. The excuse  
    sufficed. Bending over her, he slowly licked the hot, moist labia of  
    her vagina, tasting the salty-sweet juices. He knew that this was  
    merely a prelude to even more discipline--but instead of angering  
    him, the thought now brought a rush of pleasurable heat to his loins.  
    _But first, I'm going to punish *her*_ Picard thought. Stimulated, he  
    used his tongue to part the soft folds and open her to his exploration.  
     
    Nechayev felt his tongue flick lightly over the hard nub of her  
    clitoris, teasing vengefully by giving her only little brief touches that  
    maddened as well as pleased. Without fully satisfying her desire  
    there, he shifted his tongue to her warm deep channel, but his  
    probes were equally frustrating, as he dipped into her quickly,  
    barely tasted, and withdrew his tongue immediately instead of the  
    long, deep penetration she hungered for. Even as her hips rose up in  
    an effort to force him deeper, she smiled, recognizing his motive. 
     
    "So," she taunted huskily, "you can't even service a woman  
    properly anymore. You're obviously too old for your job if that's the  
    best you can do." He jerked with indignation and promptly gave her  
    exactly what she wanted. His tongue began to thrust deep within her,  
    one of his arms reaching behind her back to tilt her hips upward so  
    he could better access her. The warm slickness of his tongue reached  
    inward, moving sinuously inside her channel, and she had to dig her  
    nails into her hands to keep from moaning aloud with the pleasure  
    and pressing his head into her. He closed his mouth over her sex and  
    suckled, stroking her labia and clitoris with his lips and rubbing his  
    teeth not-so-gently over the throbbing nub. She felt the questing  
    tongue test her depths. The motion was delicious, but she knew that  
    his search would fail--experience had taught her that she didn't have  
    a trigger to her pleasure as many women did.  
     
    He was frustrated by his inability to find her center of  
    pleasure, intent now only on bringing her to orgasm as her body's  
    reaction stimulated him. The taste of her depths was exquisitely  
    creamy, and the soft gasping breaths that escaped her sent tremors  
    through his sex, now painfully swollen and erect. The muscles of his  
    backside clenched on the crop, which was no longer painful but still  
    kept all the nerves in the sensitive area alive. The hard length within  
    him now even stimulated and excited him--he found himself wishing  
    it was even thicker and deeper in, so it might evoke more of these  
    succulent sensations. The urge to awaken her completely drove him  
    even deeper within her. He braced himself against the table, used  
    both hands to spread her open, and reached inside with his tongue.  
     
    Both of them were completely unprepared for the reaction as  
    his tongue tip caught the very spot, deep within her, most sensitive  
    to his touch. She felt a rush of pleasure blaze through her like  
    wildfire, igniting every nerve, and lost control utterly with a  
    wordless cry that forced her head back and her hips to rise off the  
    table, pressing into his mouth. Her sudden surrender called for his as  
    well. Unable to restrain himself, he mounted her and drove his shaft  
    in almost violently, over and over. Her warm folds, completely  
    soaked with her lubricating juices, enveloped him tightly yet allowed  
    him to move fluidly in and out of her. He rubbed his shaft along her  
    clitoris between thrusts, feeling the texture of her flesh on the wildly  
    sensitive skin of his manhood. 
     
    She hadn't planned to allow him to mount her yet, but the  
    intense pleasure had overwhelmed her control. The long hard length  
    of his penis filled her so satisfyingly, the engorged shaft stretching  
    the walls of her channel as he buried himself in her. Unable to deny  
    the ecstatic pulse that was building to an even higher climax within  
    her, Nechayev wrapped her limbs around Picard's muscular, lean  
    frame and pressed their bodies together. Brushing against the crop,  
    still buried in him, she grasped the end and began to work it deeper,  
    thrusting it in just as he thrust himself into her. The exquisite  
    sensations of being penetrated and penetrating met in him, dragging  
    a groan from his throat. For a single timeless moment, the two of  
    them were poised on the brink of orgasm, then his body spasmed  
    and he exploded, filling her with a rush of liquid that toppled her  
    into the surging waves of ecstasy.  
     
    Several long moments later, Picard felt aftershocks of pleasure  
    run through his body as he lay collapsed on top of his desk beside  
    her. He stared at the ceiling of his ready room, in a state of shock  
    over the experience he'd just undergone. Weakly trying to shift his  
    position, he awakened a thousand sore spots--his cock still throbbed  
    with the pain of being so enlarged and abused, while his buttocks  
    were afire with the pain of the whipping, his opening still raw from  
    the just-removed crop.  
     
    "'O captain, my captain,'" Nechayev murmured half-consciously,  
    struggling up and looking down on him. Her stress was quite  
    definitely on the possessive. He met her eyes directly, still stunned.  
     
    "I don't recall being disciplined quite like that ever before," he  
    said faintly. She smiled langorously. 
     
    "I still didn't give you permission to release, now that I think  
    about it. I really should discipline you some more," she mused, then  
    laughed throatily as his cock responded to the threat by stirring in a  
    valiant attempt to rise and harden. "Oh? You like that idea, hmmm?" 
     
    His face was flaming as he silently dealt with the new concept  
    of pleasure that she'd introduced him to, the idea of enjoying  
    submission and punishment at her hands, and his body's clear  
    reaction.  
     
    "Well?" she asked softly. "Would you like me to take you again,  
    my delicious captain?" She took his face in her hands and forced him  
    to look up at her. 
     
    "Yes," he whispered hoarsely, swallowing with the admission.  
     
    Delighted, she lowered her face to his for the first time,  
    possessing his mouth with her own in a deep, searching kiss. Her  
    tongue probed every corner, and he lay passively beneath her,  
    opening himself fully to any demands she would make. After  
    suckling his lower lip, she lifted her head and slowly licked her lips  
    in satisfaction, looking over his body. "Lie still," she instructed,  
    wanting to taste all of him. He nodded merely, shut his eyes tightly  
    as if that made it easier to obey her commands. 
     
    Her mouth moved over his jaw, nibbling and licking all the way  
    down his neck to his chest, where she delicately took his nipple in  
    her teeth and teased it, pulling gently on it, circling with her tongue.  
    An uncontrolled sigh of pleasure broke from him--she could feel it as  
    a tremor beneath her tender mouth. She shifted her lips to his thighs  
    and worked her way up along the inner surfaces, dropping warm,  
    moist kisses on the firm, sensitive flesh until she reached his shaft,  
    already half-erect again. Taking him in her hands, she licked him  
    from base to head in a single stroke, then savored his whole shaft the  
    same way before slowly sliding her lips over his head and suckling  
    him, engulfing the hard penis millimeters at a time until his whole  
    length was in her mouth, throbbing against her tongue. 
     
    Hips lifting off the table, he groaned wildly, casting off all  
    control. Waves of pleasure obscured his vision as his back arched,  
    fists clenching with her motion as she moved her mouth over him.  
    She tasted the first juices of his body, felt his readiness and eagerly  
    straddled him, positioning him at the gateway of her body. Clasping  
    him firmly, she stroked the folds of her labia with the head of his  
    firm cock, sending delicious shudders up her channel. With aching  
    slowness, she tenderly parted her folds with one hand and tucked  
    the very tip of him into the warm embrace of her vagina. As she  
    paused for an agonizing moment to enjoy the sensations the minimal  
    contact stimulated, he felt her body lubricate her deep cleft, the  
    warm juices trickling delightfully down his shaft. Just when he  
    thought he could bear no more, she poised herself above him and  
    plunged hard in one exquisite motion, taking him in completely a  
    second time, the tight warmth closing on him as she clenched all her  
    inner muscles. The orgasm caught him up, his head fell back, mouth  
    opening in a silent O of ecstasy. He forgot to breathe for a long  
    moment as his body was pulled taut and released almost  
    simultaneously, his climax flooding her waiting depths with a rush  
    that shook her entire body.  
     
    For all he knew, it might have been hours or instants that he  
    lay, senseless with the aftermath of their.... lovemaking somehow  
    didn't seem to describe the simultaneously disturbing and fulfilling  
    act. She was standing over him, a small triumphant smile hovering  
    about her mouth as she caressed his face gently. He weakly climbed  
    off the table and stood before her, still naked and spent. He would  
    have spoken, but she pressed a finger to his lips and shook her head,  
    smiling. Kissing him deeply one last time, she picked up the crop and  
    moved to go, then paused. 
     
    "You might want to get out of eyeshot--not that I think anyone  
    on the bridge would _mind_ seeing you like that, but it might be a  
    bit difficult to... maintain discipline," she smiled, "if your crew know  
    what a magnificent specimen you are." Flushing hotly, he walked to  
    the head, looking back at her one last time. "Be good, captain--and I  
    _do_ expect you to have kept up your discipline the next time I see  
    you." With that parting shot, she was gone.  
     
    Some half-hour later, Picard straightened his uniform and  
    walked onto the bridge. Riker promptly got out of the command  
    chair, trying to keep an inquisitive look off his face, while Deanna  
    was conspicuous by her absence. Picard stared at the chair for a few  
    heartbeats, his well-punished backside burning faintly, feeling  
    dreadfully embarrassed. Clearing his throat, he shook his head at  
    Riker. "No, Number One. You have the conn. Err... I'll be in my  
    quarters, if I'm needed." He quickly turned and hurried to the  
    turbolift, avoiding the startled looks from his bridge crew. 
     
    _The captain taking off in the middle of his shift? It must've  
    been worse than I thought,_ Riker surmised, trying to imagine what  
    had happened. He didn't succeed. 
     
      
    THE END 
    
     


	2. Mira-Q-Lous


    Star Trek: The Next Sensation 
    Episode 2: Mira-Q-lous 
     
    PLEASE NOTE!!! 
    The following short story is rated SSS due to extreme levels of  
    silliness and is just about anything besides serious science fiction, so  
    consider yourself forewarned!  
    You are welcome to pass this story around, except for one caveat: 
    1) Don't make money off it (right, I wish!) 
     
    Thanks! 
    Paramount is wholly non-responsible for this story, and all standard  
    disclaimers apply.  
    Star Trek and its characters are registered trade marks of  
    Paramount, Inc. 
    Copyright 1994, the lady of shalott 
    All Rights Reserved 
     
    This story was born as a piece of serious fiction, but due to a heavy  
    dose of sleep deprivation it slowly degenerated into a parody. Please  
    note that the levels of silliness increase exponentially with the page  
    numbers. :P enjoy anyway. or not...  
     
     
     
     
    *  *  * 
    
    [the scenario: we are in the observation lounge. So are the rest of the  
    remarkably unobservant senior staff, who haven't noticed us sitting  
    there with them. The Enterprise is in bad shape. A meeting is in  
    progress.] 
     
    "I'm sorry, sir. We've tried everything we could do and a few  
    things we couldn't, and there's just too much damage. I can't possibly  
    get the Enterprise moving at even Warp 1 in anything less than two  
    days," Geordi LaForge explained. 
     
    Jean-Luc Picard sank back in his chair in quiet horror. "There's  
    no way?" 
     
    Geordi shook his head. "It would take a miracle--a REAL one, as  
    opposed to the ones I usually perform." 
     
    The captain looked around the conference room. His entire  
    senior staff looked uniformly grim. Not surprising, considering the  
    uniforms. He tugged his down. "Comments?" he asked dryly, not  
    bothering to ask for options. 
     
    "If the Shelliak find us here, it'll mean war, not just our deaths!  
    And with the increased Cardassian hostilities, Starfleet can't afford  
    that! We've caught up to where we were before the Borg attack, but  
    our enemies haven't been standing still!" Riker said forcefully.  
     
    "It is nearly certain that the Shelliak will detect our presence  
    within the next twelve hours, sir," Data offered cheerfully. "And the  
    probability of our remaining undetected for the amount of time it  
    will take us to leave Shelliak space is approximately..." Data  
    hesitated. 
     
    Everyone waited for a moment. "Mr. Data?" prompted Picard,  
    giving his shirt a surreptitious tug. 
     
    "I am uncertain of the correct procedure to be followed here,  
    sir... I have noted that when I provide exact calculations to extended  
    decimal places I am often cut off, so I am trying to avoid doing so." 
     
    "So just tell us what the number rounds to in three significant  
    digits or less," suggested Beverly.  
     
    Data tilted his head. "Very well. In that case, the probability is  
    zero point zero zero." 
     
    "Forget I mentioned it," sighed Beverly. 
     
    Picard straightened his jacket. "Mr. Data. If the Enterprise were  
    to self-destruct, would the Shelliak still be able to detect that we had  
    been here?" he asked grimly. Silence filled the room, which did  
    crowd the officers a bit, so they got rid of it as quickly as possible. 
     
    Data considered. "I am afraid so, sir. The debris of a self- 
    destruct would be identifiable by Sheliak sensors. Once they have  
    done so, they would be extremely unlikely to accept any excuses the  
    Federation would offer for the treaty violation." 
     
    Picard rubbed his hand over his head. "Well, then, I suppose  
    we might as well start praying!" he muttered. 
     
    Gasps of shock followed this remark. "Sir!!!" exclaimed Worf. 
     
    He stared at all of their stunned faces. "It was a joke!" he said,  
    startled. "Perhaps not a very good one, but still..." He trailed off as he  
    noticed that their attention was directed _behind_ him. 
     
    "Actually a rather _bad_ one, mon capitaine. Your sense of  
    humor really leaves something to be desired." Barely holding back a  
    sigh, Picard turned and found himself face to face with none other  
    than... Q. 
     
    Despite all that the entity had done to them in the past, Picard  
    could not repress an internal leap of hope. While not exactly a Grade- 
    A certified miracle, Q was at least a potential miracle, if he could be  
    coaxed into performing. Unless, of course, he had shown up to enjoy  
    the unpleasant situation they had found themselves in. 
     
    "Q!! Why are *YOU* here!!!???" Worf roared. 
     
    "Mr. Worf, there's no need to yell," Picard ordered. 
     
    "Sir!! Klingons do _NOT_ *yell*! We growl! We roar!! We snarl  
    viciously and rip our enemies' guts out and eat ghakh!!! We--" 
     
    "We get the point already!" Picard roared back. Everyone shut  
    up for a few moments. Then the silence started to get too silly, so  
    Picard tugged down his shirt. Everyone else tugged on their shirts  
    too. Riker tugged forcefully. 
     
    "Q. Why are you here?" Picard asked. 
     
    "Oh, well, I've been thinking about dropping in for a while now,  
    but the right... hmm... situation just hadn't come up yet," he said  
    airily, waving a hand. "But this seemed like an ideal time to stop by  
    and say hello--or goodbye, as you prefer." 
     
    Picard knew Q was _fond_ of him. The same way a rather  
    irritating child [like a Macaulay Culkin character] might be fond of a  
    small kitten that he likes to torment, tying small bits of string onto it,  
    making it chase its own tail, giving it baths, that sort of thing. But  
    would that fondness extend to actively helping him? "I'm afraid that  
    our preference has very little to do with it," he responded cautiously,  
    testing the waters. 
     
    "I didn't say 'you' as in 'all of you,' mon capitaine. I said 'you' as  
    in 'you, Jean-Luc Picard,'" Q explained, smirking.  
     
    He wondered what the entity meant. Was Q offering him his  
    life, but refusing to help his crew? If so, he mentally swore, he'd  
    deck the damned creature before ordering him off the ship. _It's not  
    fair. I put up with the @ &$!#@&* for seven seasons without getting  
    to throw a single punch and Sisko gets to knock him on his wazoo the  
    first time he meets him!_ "Exactly what _are_ you saying, Q?" he  
    asked, an edge creeping into his voice.  
     
    Q heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Exactly what I mean, of course.  
    I'm offering you a deal, Picard. A ticket out of this snarled mess for  
    your ship and all the insects on it that you care so much about... in  
    exchange for a little cooperation on your part." 
     
    Picard was about to accept, when Riker forcefully reached out a  
    hand and covered his mouth. "Exactly what *kind* of cooperation are  
    we talking about here?!" the commander demanded forcefully.  
    "Mmmf!" said Picard. He would have shaken himself free if Worf  
    hadn't come up and restrained him as well. Picard glared at his crew,  
    none of whom made any effort to help him offer himself on a silver  
    platter to Q for their sakes. [Bad crew!] 
     
    "You people are so picky!" exclaimed Q. "Let's just say I'm  
    curious about a facet of the human experience. I've come up with a  
    wee little experiment I want to try out, and I've decided that I want  
    Jean-Luc to participate. There, will that do?" he inquired. 
     
    Riker shook his head forcefully. "Not quite! Would the captain  
    be harmed?! And that sentence was redundant!" 
     
    Q stared at him. "You are a twit, Riker. What difference would it  
    make? He's going to die along with the rest of you if he doesn't agree!  
    And it was not so redundant." 
     
    "There's a difference between dying with the rest of us and  
    dying at your sadistic whim!" Riker snapped, forcefully. "And it was  
    so! 'Wee' and 'little' mean the same thing!" 
     
    "Oh please! If all I wanted was to see humans die I could just  
    hang around and watch. No, he is not going to be permanently  
    damaged in any way whatsoever, so keep your pants on--if you can."  
    Riker's pants suddenly dropped to the floor, revealing white jockey  
    shorts with little purple hearts on them. Everyone except Data (and  
    Picard) snickered. "And I'm omnipotent, remember! I declare that  
    'wee' and little' no longer mean the same thing! So there." 
     
    As Riker forcefully grabbed for his pants, Beverly spoke up.  
    "But just when are we going to get him back?" 
     
    Q shrugged. "Whenever I feel like it, of course." 
     
    "When might that be?" Deanna asked, receiving only an  
    incredulous look in reply.  
     
    "Forget it!" said Riker forcefully, holding his pants up. "We're  
    not going to let you enslave the captain to your petty games for the  
    rest of his life! There's another way out of this and we'll find it  
    without your help!" 
     
    Q smiled a smug little smile. "Actually, there isn't. But you can  
    have a little more time to figure that out--I don't expect your poor  
    little brains to comprehend things as quickly as I can. Ah'll be  
    baaack!" With that, the being flashed out. 
     
    "Uhh, Commander, I thought we had just established that there  
    _wasn't_ a way out of this setup for us," Geordi pointed out. 
     
    "We don't want Q to know that!" 
     
    "I think he already does," Deanna said dryly.  
     
    "But we can't just hand Captain Picard over to him!" Riker  
    stated forcefully. "You can't be thinking of agreeing to this, sir!" 
     
    "MMmrrfl!" 
     
    "Oh, sorry, captain," said Worf, releasing him. 
     
    Picard tugged his uniform straight. "If agreeing to Q's terms is  
    the only way to save the Enterprise then that is what I will do, is  
    that clear?!"  
     
    "But sir! We have no idea of what horrible, evil, vicious, cruel,  
    nasty things he might do to you! Why, he could torment you  
    endlessly in thousands of ways that people haven't even invented!  
    What if he--" 
     
    "That's quite enough, Commander!" Picard cut Riker's forceful  
    tirade off. "Or am I going to have to resort to discipline?"  
     
    Riker's face flushed forcefully. "No, sir!"  
     
    "Very well, then." He glanced around the room. "Alert all decks.  
    I want to be notified as soon as Q reappears. Of course, I'll probably  
    be the first to know, since I'm going to sit in my ready room and he'll  
    probably come there to badger and taunt me until I agree to his vile  
    terms. Dismissed." 
    
    *** 
    
    Shortly afterward, Picard was sipping some Earl Grey [By the way,  
    Earl Grey tea is great. You should try some. Twinings is the best  
    brand, but don't get their decaf. Benchley's French Vanilla is the only  
    good decaf tea.] Anyway. Picard is sipping away at his Earl Grey  
    when a flash of light poofs in front of him and reveals Q come to  
    badger and taunt him.  
     
    "So, Q, I see you've come to taunt and badger me," said Picard. 
     
    "No actually, I've come to badger and taunt you." 
     
    "That's what I said." 
     
    "No it isn't! I'm omnipotent! I remember exactly what you said  
    and that wasn't it at all! You said something completely different!..."  
    he trailed off. "Er, what exactly were we talking about?" he  
    whispered. 
     
    "You, me, badger, taunt," muttered Picard sotto voce. 
     
    "Oh, OK. At any rate, I'm here to tell you about all my nefarious  
    schemes for you in detail, so that you look really heroic and brave  
    when you accept anyway because you'll be deader than a doornail if  
    you don't." Q was still whispering. 
     
    "Oh. Well, you'd better get started then, hadn't you?" Picard  
    whispered back. 
     
    "Right!" Q cleared his throat and made a few more poofs of light  
    just for effect. "I suppose you would like to know exactly what I  
    have planned for you, Picard!" he declared loudly. 
     
    Picard adjusted his uniform dramatically. "I'm not in a position  
    to refuse you, Q, no matter what your *sick* and *twisted* plans are.  
    What do you want from me?" 
     
    "What do I want? What do I WANT?" Q seemed slightly agitated. 
     
    "Yes, that *was* my question." 
     
    "Fine then! I'll TELL you what I want! I want YOU, Picard! All of  
    you! I'm tired of sitting around listening to Vash reminiscing about  
    all your fabulous sex techniques, especially that French twist thing  
    she never stops talking about! It drives me crazy! Listen to me! I'm  
    talking like Riker! Aaagh!" Q jumped up and down several times.  
     
    Suddenly a Paramount official in a three-piece suit came running out  
    of nowhere. "OK, hold it right there! You can't say that! There are no  
    homosexuals in the 24th century!! There aren't even any bisexuals!  
    We promised the advertisers! We even killed off Roddenberry when  
    he was going to put some on the show!!!" Q turned him into a turnip.  
    The turnip made small burbling noises for a few more moments until  
    it realized it had no vocal cords. 
     
    The Q turned back to Picard, his eyes burning with passion. "So  
    now you know the truth, Picard! I have been secretly lusting after  
    you since the first time we met! And now, at last, I am going to have  
    my way with you, you sexy bald hunk!" 
     
    "Well, why didn't you say anything before?!" Picard demanded,  
    his voice trembling with emotion. "First you play games with me,  
    then you take off with Vash--how was I supposed to know how you  
    felt?" 
     
    "You--you mean--you *care*?" Q gasped. "But, I only did all  
    that to get your attention. And the only reason I put up with that  
    Vash creature is because she would tell me about all the naughty  
    things you did with her! I was afraid to tell you how I felt!" 
     
    "Why do you think I surrendered to you without a fight in the  
    first episode? Everyone always thought it was some stupid mistake  
    on the writers' part, but the truth is I've wanted you since you  
    showed up, accused me of being a savage, and started tormenting  
    me," Picard cried.  
     
    "Oh, Jean-Luc...!" 
     
    "Oh, Q...!" 
     
    _a loud screeching noise cuts off the tender scene_ 
    ********************************************************************* 
    We apologize for the excessive silliness in this story. Those  
    responsible have been sacked.  
     
     
    THE END 
    


	3. Unmasked


    Just when you thought it was safe to read your mail.... 
     
    Presenting another episode of 
     
    Star Trek: The Next Sensation 
    To boldly go where only naughty fans have gone before! 
     
    Episode 3: Unmasked 
     
    PLEASE NOTE!!! 
     
    The following short story is rated NC-17, with _very_ good reason. It  
    is meant for adult readers with open minds. Please note: this is  
    erotica rather than science fiction, even though it is written about the  
    characters from Star Trek: The Next Generation.  
     
     
    ************************************************************************ 
    Bail-out warning for those who have problems with a) homosexuality  
    b) serious gender-bending  (In case I need to spell this out, a & b  
    figure heavily in the story!!)  
    ************************************************************************ 
     
    You are welcome to pass this story around except for a few caveats: 
     
    1) Keep this entire header attached and keep the story together 
    2) Don't make money off it (right, I wish!) 
     
    Thanks! 
     
    Paramount is wholly non-responsible for this story, and all standard  
    disclaimers apply.  
    Star Trek and its characters are registered trade marks of  
    Paramount, Inc., and no copyright infringement is intended. 
    This story copyright 1994, the lady of shalott 
     
    All Rights Reserved 
     
    A few points before we begin... :-9~~ 
    Items between /slash marks/ are thoughts. *Stars* and  
    _underscores_ are used for emphasis. 
     
    This episode is a slightly >ahem< *different* interpretation of "Masks"  
    Please note that this probably won't make much sense to you if you  
    haven't seen "Masks". Of course, I suppose you can still enjoy the  
    mating part even if you don't get the ritual :).  
     
    If you HAVE seen "Masks", please note that I've played fast and loose  
    with the characters and scenes. Gendered pronouns were annoying as  
    hell to deal with in this one; hope they aren't too confusing. Now,  
    without further ado... 
     
    UNMASKED 
     
    	*** 
     
    Picard approached Data, who was leaning against the odd brazier, yet  
    another personality imprinted over his features. /Only I can know  
    what he must be feeling/ he thought, grimly studying the face, so  
    familiar and yet so completely unknown. /To be possessed by  
    something so alien, submerged in a sea of unintelligible voices.../ He  
    nearly shuddered and pushed aside his concern for Data to focus on  
    the task at hand -- getting the information to free him and save his  
    ship. He already knew a little about Masaka, that the queen both  
    terrified and exalted, that her will impelled the transformation. /And  
    only this Korgano can stop her./  
     
    Kneeling by the fire, he almost reached out a hand to the huddled  
    figure out of instinct, before memory twitched and reminded him of  
    the strength of this body that these personalities did not know how  
    to control. His wrist still ached from the iron grip a previous  
    personality had seized him in. /So who is this one?/ he wondered.  
    "Hello," he said tentatively. 
     
    Data's face lifted to his with a startled expression. "Wh-who are you?  
    Did she send you?" 
     
    "I'm Captain Picard... she? Do you mean Masaka? Who are you?" 
     
    "I am Yanhe... Masaka did not send you? You are not one of her  
    guards?" 
     
    "No, no I'm not -- but I must speak with Masaka. Please, can you tell  
    me how to reach her?" 
     
    Yanhe stared at him incredulously. "Reach her? She will come for us  
    all too soon! And then we'll be lost!" 
     
    "Lost?" he asked sharply. "How?" But the other wasn't listening.  
     
    "I don't want to be her sacrifice!" Yanhe whispered. "She destroys  
    even as she delights. She would extinguish me with her fire if ever  
    she caught me... only Korgano could lie with her and not be lost in the  
    taking."  
     
    Picard leaned forward, reassuringly. "Yanhe, listen to me -- I'll be  
    her sacrifice. She can take me instead of you -- but tell me what I  
    must do! How do we speak with her?" 
     
    Yaneh stared at him blankly. "You don't. Only Korgano speaks _with_  
    Masaka. She may speak _to_ you though, if you raise her temple."  
    Yanhe laughed faintly. "I'm sure she's hungry for some new sacrifices  
    after her long rest -- she'll be as happy to take you as another!" 
     
    "How do we raise the temple? And what will she do -- will I be able  
    to speak with her if she takes me?" Jean-Luc struggled to understand  
    what Yanhe took for granted, only to awaken more mocking laughter. 
     
    "Speak with her? Oh, yes. You'll be able to speak -- to beg her to set  
    you free! But she's greedy, she won't release you; all she cares about  
    is her own pleasure. And soon enough that's all you'll care about too;  
    pleasing her, giving yourself to her." Yanhe shuddered, his eyes  
    faraway. "Sometimes she teases her victims before taking them... I  
    saw her play with one of them -- she held him by her throne for  
    three days before she finally allowed him to please her." Yanhe's  
    expression was awed. "She is glorious..." 
     
    "Yanhe, what do you mean --  'held him by her throne'?" 
     
    Yanhe smiled dreamily. "I forget his name... but he had seen Masaka  
    bathing, as no man may. She kept him by the throne, chained, forced  
    to watch her take others and see their ecstasy... every so often, she  
    would stroke him, lightly, or just taste him, enjoying his pleas for  
    release..." Flushing hotly, Picard suddenly realized that he'd  
    misunderstood the nature of the sacrifice. "Then, she allowed him to  
    taste her, to pleasure her with his mouth. But she hadn't finished  
    tormenting him -- she had him taken in front of her, entered over  
    and over by the strongest of her guards, making sure that he still did  
    not release." 
     
    Jean-Luc noticed that he was panting, his own body tightening in  
    sympathy with the story as Yanhe continued, still in that dreamy  
    voice. "Finally, she had him whipped... he was even begging for more  
    of that by then. Only then did she permit him to touch her, to put his  
    hands on her body and inside her, giving her pleasure... he was so  
    desperate that he held nothing back, all he wanted was to be taken  
    by her. And when at last she threw him to the floor and mounted  
    him, his whole body convulsed with the delight of her possession, so  
    wildly that he lifted her off the ground with his thrusts... ahhh, she  
    enjoyed that one." Yanhe's eyes met his then, shining faintly. "But he  
    couldn't even speak after she'd done with him."  
     
    His mouth was dry. Jean-Luc had to swallow several times before he  
    could force out a rather shaky voice. "Yanhe, what do we do to raise  
    her temple? Please, tell me." Uncomfortably stimulated, he shifted  
    his weight, trying to relax. 
     
    Yanhe eyed him. "You'll take my place? If you raise the temple, she'll  
    come... but she'll want a sacrifice -- a strong one! She doesn't have  
    Korgano anymore. Only he had the control to satisfy her without  
    taking his own release first, so she has to take others slowly now..." 
     
    /Thank God for Starfleet Discipline/ Picard thought. "Yes, Yanhe, I  
    will -- now, tell me!"  
     
    "Give me your hand." Yanhe's grip, Data's grip, was warm and gentle  
    this time as the strange character drew a finger lightly over his palm,  
    sketching a sign delicately on him, sending faint tingles of sensation  
    through his already-aroused system. Tense, his body attuned to the  
    impressions entering him through the gateway of his hand, Jean-Luc  
    immediately perceived the shock even as it shuddered through  
    Data's body.  
     
    "What is it, Yanhe?" he asked urgently, leaning forward -- the other's  
    eyes were growing blank, the mouth relaxing into a dazed O as the  
    hand slipped from his own. 
     
    "She has... found me," Yanhe whispered. The chest plaque was  
    writhing, not simply shifting as it had with the changing  
    personalities. "Ahhh.... Masaka!" Yanhe cried, crumpling, in a voice  
    simultaneously exultant and desperate. 
     
    "Masaka!" Picard caught Data's shoulders. "Take me instead! Show  
    yourself --" He broke off, inhaling sharply as the face lifted to his.  
    The plaque on Data's chest was no longer a raised figure but deeply  
    engraven, and the expression was one of ecstasy, not rational  
    thought. "Yanhe?" he asked faintly, stunned at the change.  
     
    "Yanhe? Oh, yes... I am Yanhe..." Hands reached out to his face, traced  
    his lips and cheekbones gently, tenderly, even as Jean-Luc tried  
    ineffectually to pull them away. He gave up, trying to ignore the  
    curious caresses while he attempted to get through to the once- 
    rebellious Yanhe, who had evidently feared destruction with good  
    cause. But the strong fingers were trailing shivers over his frame as  
    they slid from his features to his chest, inquisitively searching the  
    fabric for sensitive points.  
     
    "Yanhe," Jean-Luc gasped out, finding that his breath was coming  
    harder, "the sign! Please, finish the sign." He managed to coax one  
    hand from its exploration of his body back to his palm. Despite the  
    pleasurable distraction as the other hand moved down to investigate  
    his thighs, he used the finger to retrace the sign on his flesh until  
    Yanhe half-consciously finished the symbol. "Thank you," he said  
    hurriedly, moving to rise.  
     
    "Stay..." whispered the new Yanhe, stroking him. The hand he'd just  
    released twined around his legs and slipped its fingers between his  
    thighs. A soft sussuration of breath forced its way out of him. "Stay  
    with me, let me show you what Masaka has given me... Ah, the sweet  
    fire of her." Yanhe rubbed gently, outlining Jean-Luc's manhood  
    through his uniform.  
     
    "Yanhe... please, let me...ahhh... go," Picard swallowed hard as Yanhe  
    pressed lips to the swelling bulge; warm breath, pressure, and the  
    promise of more all mixing to arouse him. /I want this/ his body  
    informed him treacherously, ignoring his mind's warnings of danger.  
    He could imagine how it would be to succumb to the desire -- Data's  
    body, so perfectly designed, moving with his, satisfying every  
    hunger... the idea itself was arousing. /This is NOT Data/ he angrily  
    told himself. /This is some alien personality that's just been taken by  
    Masaka.../ Moving swiftly, he slipped out of Yanhe's grasp,  
    disregarding the other's soft sound of protest. "I must go," he gasped  
    out, dashing for the door.  
     
    	*** 
     
    Once in the hallway, he tugged his uniform down, hoping against  
    hope that his unfortunate predicament was not visible, and hurried  
    off to his quarters. Barely waiting for the door to slide shut behind  
    him, Jean-Luc stripped off his uniform and dived for the shower.  
    "Water, programmed temperature minus 10 degrees," he ordered,  
    and hissed as the icy blast struck his body. Ducking his head into the  
    flow, he scrubbed himself quickly and shut off the shower just  
    before the cold became numbing. Invigorated, all of his nerves  
    tingling with the memory of the cold, he roughly toweled himself off.  
    /Well, I'm in control again/ he congratulated himself on his restraint,  
    the soft cottony nubs stroking over his body, soaking up the trickling  
    drops. A water shower was a luxury he rarely allowed himself, the  
    sensuous feel of liquid on skin almost sinful, the heat lamps already  
    warming him up. 
     
    Sighing with relief at his narrow escape from temptation, Jean-Luc  
    stretched out the tension in his frame, sliding his hands down his  
    legs and back up, calves and thighs slowly unknotting under his  
    fingers. He rolled his shoulders, letting his head fall back, then  
    walked into his bedroom. Letting himself drop onto the bed, he ran a  
    hand down his chest to his flat abdomen, resting it there in  
    unconscious enjoyment of the warmth his palm radiated into him.  
    Eyes closed, he felt the heat stirring him with each breath that raised  
    and lowered the weight.  
     
    /I'll just lie here for a few more moments/ he told himself, shifting  
    slightly, his hand somehow moving lower, fingers brushing the pubic  
    curls. A dull ache built up just below them, coaxing them down to  
    soothe the discomfort away with pressure. Biting his lip, he gave in  
    to the urge and slid his hand into the warm juncture of his thighs,  
    cupping his penis, which firmed up with little encouragement.  
    Stroking gently, he circled the shaft with his fingers and had just  
    brought his other hand down to the head, when a soft chime  
    sounded. He froze and swore quite eloquently. Trying to collect  
    himself, he snatched a robe out of his dresser and covered himself,  
    making sure the tie was secure. Wearing his most intimidating  
    captainly glare, he walked into the main room, hoping he could pack  
    the visitor off quickly. 
     
    "Come." The door swished open. Wildly, Picard wondered if he'd  
    offended some god and if it was too late to apologize. /This just can't  
    all be happening on the same day/ 
     
    "Jean-Luc, I thought you'd want to know--" Beverly broke off. "Are  
    you all right? You're looking very strained." 
     
    "I'm fine!" he snapped shortly, mentally ordering his body to calm  
    down. His natural attraction to Beverly was not helping the situation.  
    "Just... a little tense." Her eyebrow raised at his tone.  
     
    "I'll say. I just came by to tell you about Geordi's progress -- he  
    didn't want to leave the bridge after he managed to access the  
    archive." Dr. Crusher moved to his desk, the lovely flow of auburn  
    hair swinging gently, and poked the terminal. "Computer, display--" 
     
    "Doctor!" She looked at him, surprised. Drawing a deep breath, he  
    modulated his voice. "Doctor, thank you for informing me. I'll join Mr.  
    LaForge on the bridge shortly. If that's all..?" 
     
    "No, it's not!" /How did I know she was going to say that/ Picard  
    thought. "Something's wrong and you're trying to hide it. Come on,  
    spill the beans." She perched on the couch and fixed him with a  
    penetrating stare.  
     
    He avoided her eyes, which, unfortunately, somehow left him looking  
    directly at the soft swell of her breasts beneath the uniform. Those  
    curves would fit so nicely in the palms of his hands, he mused. He  
    wondered what she'd think if he stepped forward and... "Jean-Luc?"  
    He jerked his eyes to her face, blushing faintly.  
     
    "Er. There is absolutely nothing whatsoever wrong with me, Doctor."  
    Was it his imagination or were her eyes were moving down his  
    body? He hoped she wouldn't notice the growing erection--or did he  
    hope that she would? It was hard to make up his mind suddenly.  
    "Thank you for your concern. Um. You can go now." He paused. She  
    made absolutely no move to get up. "Doctor?" 
     
    It looked as though she was trying to stifle a grin. "Jean-Luc. Come  
    here and sit down." She patted the couch next to her.  
     
    "I'm not exactly... dressed, Doctor. If you don't mind--" 
     
    "I _do_ mind. You see, I know exactly what's wrong with you, and I  
    intend to take care of it." Beverly smiled at him cheerfully and  
    beckoned.  
     
    /Does she _mean_ that?/ he actually gulped. Unbidden, a vision of  
    her in his arms sprang to mind. He could almost taste her lips against  
    his, feel the rich softness of her breasts in his hands. Slowly, he  
    moved to the couch and sat down, his whole body alive with  
    anticipation. 
     
    "Beverly," he began tenderly, "are you _sure_ you want to do this?"  
     
    She looked at him, puzzled. "Of course. Really, Jean-Luc, sometimes  
    you're positively archaic. Come on, turn around." She took hold of his  
    shoulders and turned him so his back was to her. "You _are_ tense,"  
    Beverly complained, kneading his shoulders. "No wonder you're  
    snapping at me. You know, Jean-Luc, it's not a crime to ask a friend  
    for a backrub." 
     
    /No, but I am definitely contemplating murder right now/ he  
    thought savagely as her skillful hands sought out every taut muscle  
    in his neck and shoulders, easing out the strain there and increasing  
    the tension between his thighs in direct proportion. Her light  
    fragrance filled his nostrils, her body heat warmed his back, and it  
    was the most maddening position he had ever been in! /I don't think  
    this could possibly get any worse/ 
     
    Beverly reached around his body to the V of the robe and pulled it  
    down to his waist, proving him wrong. Now the searching hands were  
    on him, skin to skin sending frissons of heat running over his nerves.  
    A soft whimpering noise of desperation escaped him. "Hmm? Well,  
    don't you feel better?" Beverly asked, leaning close to attack a  
    particularly stubborn knot, the edges of her breasts lightly sweeping  
    across his back.  
     
    /A man has limits, dammit!/ He turned to take her in his arms,  
    determined to seduce her and to hell with the consequences...  
     
    "Ogawa to Dr. Crusher," chirped her comm badge. He regarded it with  
    loathing.  
     
    "Beverly here," she replied. 
     
    "Doctor, we need you in sickbay." 
     
    "I'm on my way. Crusher out." She smiled at him and patted his  
    shoulder. "Now, Jean-Luc, try to relax before you go back to work.  
    You aren't going to do anyone any good if you're all wound up."  He  
    incredulously stared as she got up and walked out.  
     
    A few minutes later the shower was running again. 
     
    	*** 
     
    /Well, we've got the temple, now where is Masaka?/ Picard  
    wondered, as he, Troi, and Worf examined the reliefs in the vaulted  
    temple the archive had obligingly produced in response to the sign.  
     
    "Captain." Deanna called his attention to a prominent display of the  
    moon-symbol of Korgano. "What do you think Korgano and Masaka's  
    relationship is? Their symbols seem to be paired throughout the  
    temple." 
     
    "Mmm." Picard recalled the conversation with Yanhe; it was scarcely  
    difficult to deduce Korgano's role. "I believe that Korgano is her  
    consort and her counterpart. The other half of the balance, as it were.  
    And, since 'he no longer pursues her,' as some of the personalities  
    have told us, the balance has been thrown off." He frowned. "I think  
    that the only way we can free the Enterprise is by restoring the  
    balance."  
     
    "But how can we do *that*?" questioned Worf. "We have not even  
    seen Masaka yet!" 
     
    "She will appear; Yanhe was certain of that..." Picard looked uneasy.  
    "And she may demand a sacrifice." 
     
    "What sort of sacrifice?" Deanna wanted to know. 
     
    Picard cleared his throat. "Apparently.... well, Masaka will demand a,  
    um, sexual sacrifice. And the sacrifice seems to be quite... er...  
    *devastating* to the individual sacrificed. Yanhe's personality was  
    destroyed when Masaka... came." Observing Deanna and Worf's  
    inquisitive looks, he hurriedly continued. "But, since she hasn't  
    appeared yet, I think we'll have to try luring her out -- by raising  
    Korgano, if that's possible. I'm going to return to the bridge and  
    attempt to access Korgano with Geordi's assistance. I'd like the two of  
    you to remain here in case Masaka appears in some form; if she does,  
    notify me." 
     
    "Aye, sir," Worf acknowledged hoarsely, as Picard hastily left the  
    room. He had just noticed a strange scent... strong, musky. From  
    where? Nostrils flared as he searched for the source. 
     
    "Worf?" Deanna asked anxiously. The Klingon's eyes were overly  
    bright, lips pulling back to bare his teeth. He almost seemed to be  
    hunting for something, inhaling deeply as he moved around the  
    temple in a half-crouch. "Worf!" she repeated, louder. 
     
    The female was speaking to him, Worf recognized, dimly.  
    Unimportant, compared to the primal urge driving him to seek...  
    there! He leaped up the stairs in a few great bounds to the throne,  
    flanked now by flaming braziers smoking heady incense. Huge  
    gulping breaths of the steam woke a dark hunger deep within his  
    loins, body stirring to obey the call of the temple. 
     
    Deanna, more than a little frightened, backed away. Worf's emotions  
    roiled down the steps to her... impossible to completely shut out  
    those darkly familiar urges that woke in everyone at times, usually  
    held in check by thought and control. Her own body quickened in  
    response to Worf's heat. She shook her head forcefully, tried to  
    focus... and saw _her_. Masaka, seated upon her throne, smiling,  
    almost smirking, at the Klingon warrior, his eyes heavy with the  
    drugging incense. 
     
    "A suitable sacrifice." The harsh female voice issued in pleased tones  
    from Data's lips, eyes beneath the delicate mask roving over Worf.  
    She smiled, ran a hand over his powerful thigh. "Indeed, _very_  
    suitable. I will enjoy breaking you, strange one." Worf snarled only  
    faintly, unable to master the heated rush in his veins that demanded  
    satiation. 
     
    /'Yanhe's personality was destroyed when Masaka... came'/ Picard's  
    words echoed in Deanna's thoughts. /I can't let her take Worf!/ she  
    thought wildly. The incense was making her dizzy as well, she  
    couldn't clear her mind, couldn't focus away the _need_ that was so  
    potently awake in Worf... and now, in her as well.  
     
    Chinking sounded as Masaka let Worf's sash fall to the stone, to be  
    followed by his shredded uniform. The rich mahogany of his skin  
    gleamed with sweat, sheen catching light to cast the sculpted muscles  
    into sharpest relief. Mesmerized, Deanna felt her mouth water,  
    staring at the bulking power of his body, and she felt an angry  
    jealousy, desire-fueled, as Masaka placed claiming hands on him.  
    "No!" she cried, furiously, saw Worf twitch under those invading  
    hands that had no right to enjoy him!. Klingon instinct, she suddenly  
    knew, was her weapon; she turned her cry of protest into a wordless,  
    raging scream... and Worf turned, pulling away from Masaka. The  
    howl spoke to his deepest instincts far more clearly than any of the  
    queen's caresses; a true mate was here, calling to him! Masaka  
    suddenly laughed.  
     
    "Yes! Go to her!" Pushing Worf down the stairs, Masaka leaned back  
    to observe. "It will be most amusing to watch you tame this one first,  
    my sacrifice. I have no doubts you will be ready enough for me  
    afterwards!" 
     
    Deanna barely took in the words before Worf was upon her, the  
    impact of his body sending potent shudders through her frame. He  
    lifted her bodily off the floor, crushing her against his hardness -- a  
    deep-throated growl rumbling through his chest vibrated against her  
    breasts, teasing the nipples. "Worf," she moaned, eagerly, opening her  
    mind to his wild abandon and letting the savage rush of emotion  
    sweep her away. Hands slid over the slick, bare skin easily, she  
    couldn't get a grip on him... frustrated, Deanna dug her nails into his  
    flesh and clung to him as he brought them to the sun-warmed stone  
    of the temple floor.  
     
    Her scent was sweet in his mouth, dark hair tumbling in a fragrant  
    rush out of the feeble ties he broke with the twitch of a hand. He  
    buried his mouth in the curve of her neck, licking her voraciously,  
    savoring the taste, the texture of her soft, unmarked shoulder and  
    throat. She pulled herself up against him, and then their mouths  
    were tearing at each other, greedily stealing all their breath away  
    with open-mouthed, luxurious kisses. Impatient, he ripped the  
    uniform from her body as easily as Masaka had removed his, loosing  
    her firmed, full breasts to his pleasure. Lowering his head, he seized  
    one tender nipple in a hot, demanding suckling, while his hand  
    encircled the other sensitive globe. Deanna writhed desperately  
    under his doubly erotic grip, the fingers squeezing her nipple with  
    unbearably delicious pressure. Her thighs were wet with welcoming  
    fluid, yet she was unprepared when he slid his broad hand between  
    them, his palm covering the soft mound and fingers teasing open the  
    soft folds of her vulva to move into her possessively. "Oh! ohh, yes,  
    please, Worf, again," she gasped. She felt aglow inside, the warmth of  
    his hands and breath fuel for the ache inside her, meeting the  
    blanketing heat of his emotions. Opened to him fully, Deanna felt the  
    Klingon mating urge even as he did, wanted to meet his violent need.  
    Her breath was in short, swift pants now, her hips surging to press  
    her clitoris against his callused palm. But she wanted to taste him as  
    well, sent her hands on a quest over his body to his rock-hard chest  
    and tight abdomen. They worked down, fingers running fluidly over  
    him to the shadowing curls over his full, erect member.  
     
    Every stab of pleasure resounded from his mind to her own, teaching  
    her the handling of this magnificent body. Guttural Klingon words  
    exploded from him as she sought out the most sensitive points and  
    lingered on them, extracting every last thrill of pleasure from his  
    body. Light, feathery touches heightened his tension; this delicate  
    lovemaking threatened to undo the last shreds of control that  
    remained to him. "Deanna..." he growled softly. His mouth devoured  
    her, teeth catching her skin in stinging bites that nearly broke the  
    skin, little flashes of sensation exploding over her. Some part of him  
    still feared to unleash his instincts fully... this body beneath his was  
    so soft, so tender, not like a Klingon's.  
     
    Deanna sensed his dim concern, frustrated with his refusal to  
    surrender. Twisting, she rolled them over. Now straddled over his  
    sweat-slicked breadth, she pressed his shoulders to the floor. "I want  
    to see you," she whispered with shameless curiosity into his ear. She  
    slid her body down, rubbing her sex over his until her soft buttocks  
    rested on his thighs, then began her investigation, eyes half-shut in  
    Sensuous delight. A single, delicate hand cupped his bulging sac,  
    already drawing closer to his body; the other closed around the  
    upthrust penis, so large her hand did not hold the whole length of  
    him. Licking her lips, she met his eyes, and then she was turning  
    around, her depths open to him from behind while she lowered  
    herself and sucked the throbbing, engorged head, slowly taking in  
    more of him. The texture of his skin was alien, more rugged, with  
    soft ridges for her tongue to explore and harden. Such a basic  
    pleasure, to truly _know_ him, to feel the rhythm of his breath  
    breaking up, his control failing. 
     
    The liquid trail she left as she shifted downwards felt like acid to  
    him, searing on his skin as she took him into her hands. But suddenly  
    she was moving over him, mouth descending to claim his rock-hard  
    cock for her enjoyment. /My mate/ he thought incoherently, breath  
    harder to force into his lungs. He looked down, saw the dark, sweet  
    folds of her sex, flushed to dark rose from his first, mild invasion; the  
    labia invited a more ruthless searching. Grasping her hips, he drew  
    them back towards him, sultry stabs of pleasure from her moist  
    enveloping mouth dragging him with increasing speed to the  
    pinnacle, and then he had her against his mouth and could seek into  
    her without obstacle. Her softness, redolent with musk, gave way  
    before his insistent, demanding tongue... Deanna felt the hard yet  
    undulating length slide over and between her shielding labia to enter  
    the slick channel and trail lines of heat up and down it. Shuddering,  
    she moaned against his shaft, felt it throb in response. He moved  
    deeper still, mouth closing over the lips of her cleft, no longer gentle  
    now but demanding, teeth grazing her tender, excited flesh. She  
    squirmed a little involuntarily, and his hands dug into her soft thighs  
    in response, holding her firmly still, open to his hunger. Fixed thus,  
    Deanna took the only revenge available, suckled the cock more  
    thoroughly... a sudden pulse told her that Worf was on his verge,  
    about to plunge. "Worf!" she cried, wanting him inside her, filling her  
    when he erupted, just as he desired her succulent folds embracing  
    his hardness. He lifted her easily, loosened his grip so she could turn  
    back to him, and set her just over his thighs, ready to move into her  
    slowly. 
     
    Impatient, Deanna didn't wait for him, but seized the ready cock and  
    plunged herself onto it, sinuously twisting her body to ease the  
    entry. "Mmm!" she moaned, stretched and pierced to her limits,  
    feeling the tip of his shaft teasing at the very top of her channel.  
    Worf literally bucked against her, his powerful muscles lifting them  
    both from the ground with his thrusts. Gravity pulled her down onto  
    him hard as they returned to earth, only to leave it again in a final,  
    consuming rush of ecstasy, as she felt his release in a single pulse  
    that traveled the length of his shaft and flooded her depths so  
    satisfyingly, even as her own channel tightened convulsively around  
    him. 
     
    Spent, Worf, let his head fall back to the ground, panting faintly. /I  
    had no idea human females were so eager!/ His thoughts returned to  
    some semblance of normality with the satiation of his urge. Deanna,  
    lying curled atop him, actually purred with satisfaction, fingers  
    stroking over his chest.  
     
    /How marvelous/ Deanna thought smugly, running her hands over  
    Worf. The waves of pleasure were gradually dying away, leaving her  
    tingling with afterglow. Biting her lip, Deanna wondered naughtily  
    whether Worf would be interested in a second round... her body  
    jumped and stirred eagerly at the thought. Letting her hand drift  
    towards Worf's thighs, she peeked up at his face inquiringly. 
     
    He was asleep. 
     
    Deanna levered herself off his body, glaring at him in annoyance. /I  
    wasn't done yet!/ she thought petulantly. And then a warm hand  
    was stroking her shoulder from behind... Deanna whirled and looked  
    up at Masaka.  
     
    "I thought _he_ would tame _you_," the queen observed with no  
    little amusement, easily pulling Deanna up into her arms. "Evidently  
    it is the other way around." Deanna, pressed against Masaka's chest,  
    felt the hard bulge of the queen's shaft rising into her sex,  
    transmitting delightful pulses to her stimulated nerves. Data's body  
    was firm next to hers, the inhuman strength hidden under smooth,  
    soft skin. "No matter. You will do quite nicely in his stead."  
     
    Suddenly realizing that she'd just been elected sacrifice in Worf's  
    place, Deanna made a valiant attempt to wriggle free, but Masaka's  
    hand in the small of her back held her pinned. The other hand traced  
    a wavering path over her body down to her thighs, dipping into her  
    warm, wet cleft easily. "Ohhh," Deanna sighed softly as the thumb  
    pressed into her clitoris so gently, then began to massage a soft spiral  
    outwards while the fingers delved into her channel. Masaka claimed  
    her mouth tenderly, skillful tongue teasing hers into reciprocating.  
    Deanna let her body relax into Masaka's embrace, feeling her nipples  
    harden in anticipation. 
     
    Masaka lightly nibbled her chin, moved down to her neck and  
    scattered soft, sweet kisses over the bruised flesh. She coaxed  
    another sigh out of Deanna, pressing the thrusting fingers up higher  
    into her, feeling the silken fluids lubricate her hand. Her cock was  
    already erect, ready to escape from its bonds, and Masaka guided  
    Deanna's hand to the hardness of it. Throbbing length hot against her  
    hands through the encasing fabric, the penis demanded to be freed;  
    Deanna slowly opened the trousers of Data's uniform and felt it  
    almost leap into her hand. "Ahhh," breathed Masaka, her lips curving  
    into a smile against Deanna's skin. The shaft was finely shaped,  
    rousing into velvety strength with her caresses. Masaka's hand  
    slipped out of her, leaving her empty and needy, closed over hers  
    and slicked her lubricating moisture over the cock's head. Deanna  
    shivered with excited agitation as Masaka brought them together,  
    positioned the quickened member at her ripe, waiting cleft and  
    occupied her with a langorously slow penetration. The queen held  
    her off the ground, lowering her onto the shaft by achingly small  
    intervals until she was completely entered and filled with the  
    pulsating organ. 
     
    Speared, Deanna gave herself up to Masaka's power, wrapping her  
    legs around the queen and letting Masaka support her trembling  
    body. No longer even holding herself up, Deanna rocked against the  
    hardness, feeling the probing thrusts titillating the walls of her  
    channel. Masaka leaned Deanna's torso back, bent warm lips to her  
    rose-tipped breasts and drew wet patterns over her flushed skin  
    with an adept tongue, feeling her body's tremors echoed in the  
    clenching of her sex. Poised for one quick instant with her penis  
    almost withdrawn, she held Deanna still and taut just above her, then  
    pulled the sheath down upon her and thrust into the descent, bodies  
    shuddering together in a final wave of bliss. Deanna heard her own  
    voice crying out as if from a distance while the climax carried her  
    away from herself, scarcely able to credit her own abandon. And  
    then the rush slipped away, and she was empty and unconnected  
    once more, body lowered casually to the floor as Masaka, now sated,  
    rose once more to her throne. Soft, moaning pants escaped her as she  
    lay weakly on the ground, unable to stir herself to motion.  
     
    Was it a moment or an hour when she felt Worf's hand on her  
    shoulder rousing her? It was still the hardest thing she'd ever done  
    to pull herself off the floor, using him as a support. "Counselor... are  
    you alright?" he asked with urgent concern. "Did I... injure you?" She  
    stared at him, realized he didn't know what had happened between  
    her and Masaka.  
     
    "Oh... no! No, Worf, I'm... I'll be fine. Just help me get up and, um, get 
    a new uniform." Deanna trembled against him, still dizzy. "We have  
    to tell Captain Picard about... Masaka's appearance." He would have  
    spoken, but she silenced him with a finger to his lips. "We'll... talk,  
    later. Right now, we have other things to worry about." He nodded,  
    grimly, gazing up at the impassive queen once more seated on her  
    throne. 
     
    	*** 
     
    When Deanna and Worf entered the bridge a short while later,  
    Captain Picard was standing over Geordi, a gleaming mask in his  
    hands. "Captain," Deanna swallowed, avoiding Will's inquiring gaze at  
    her wobbly tone, and announced, "Masaka... is here." 
     
    Picard faced her, aware that he was going to have to play Korgano to  
    this queen, and probably get _very_ thoroughly taken in the process  
    -- an idea, he had to admit, which seemed more and more palatable  
    since the uncomfortable stimulation he'd received earlier refused to  
    meekly subside. "What form has she taken?" 
     
    Deanna prayed that she wasn't as red with embarrassment as she  
    felt. "Um, Data's, sir," she almost squeaked. 
     
    Unbidden, the momentary fantasy he'd experienced under Yanhe's  
    hands, of being pleasured by Data, resurged with a seductive allure.  
    Jean-Luc issued a stern reprimand to his hormones, which  
    unfortunately paid him little mind. "I see," he responded, glad that  
    his voice, at least, had not betrayed him. "Well, I suppose I'm just  
    going to have to give this a try," he said offhandedly, gazing at the  
    mask.  
     
    "Are you sure that's a good idea? We have no idea what this Masaka  
    might do to you!" demanded Riker. 
     
    /Oh yes we do/ thought Deanna. 
     
    /Oh yes we do/ thought Picard. He said merely, "Since we only have  
    a few hours left, we have to take the best option open to us." Moving  
    to the turbolift, he hesitated. "*I'll* contact *you* when it's safe...  
    don't... er... interrupt Masaka and me until then." 
     
    "Captain, at least allow me to accompany you!" exclaimed Worf.  
     
    "No!" Jean-Luc nearly shuddered at the thought. It might be  
    necessary to make love to Masaka in order to save his ship, and he  
    might even enjoy the experience, but he had _no_ desire for any of  
    his crew to look on while he... performed his duty. "That *won't* be  
    necessary, Mr. Worf. No, all of you stay here and... and monitor the  
    ship's systems!" /That should keep them busy/ He decisively walked  
    to the 'lift.  
     
    The turbolift doors cut him off from the concerned faces of his crew;  
    he lifted the mask to his face. Tying it on, he bound himself into the  
    strange alternate world, submitting to the ritual needs of its culture.  
    He had barely finished putting it on when the doors were swishing  
    open, delivering him to the temple level. 
     
    The strange-wrought mask, resting on him so lightly he barely felt it  
    and saw it only as a shadow around his eyes, closed off avenues of  
    peripheral vision to focus his gaze ahead. Only memory told Jean-Luc  
    that there were walls to his sides as the world narrowed to the door  
    at the hallway's end that led to the temple. Was that incense, the  
    dark and spicy taste in his mouth and nostrils? Alien scents,  
    welcoming and frightening at once, as multiple as the voices from the  
    archive, weaved into his lungs with every inhalation. 
     
    The soft swish of the doors startled him--had he really crossed the  
    hallway so quickly?--the temple somehow reached out and pulled  
    him in, embracing him warmly as if in recognition. Strange, how the  
    mask changed things so... where before he had been an intruder, now  
    he belonged, a part of the whole cycle, marked and shielded by the  
    mask. Jean-Luc made his way to the throne through the hazy  
    atmosphere, the air heavy with sunlit warmth.   
     
    "Korgano." He looked up at his queen, dominant and enthroned, and  
    knew that only he could cast her down, conquer her and rebuild the  
    broken cycle. /I must _be_ Korgano/ he thought. Only by integrating  
    himself into the rhythms of this alien ritual could he overcome  
    Masaka. 
     
    The queen came down to him, her mask pooling shadows around the  
    eyes that gazed into his own. He fleetingly acknowledged the  
    _rightness_ of her incarnation, the shining gold of skin and eyes so  
    close to her flame, and wondered whether he suited his own role as  
    well. She reached over to lay a hand, warm as it should be, against  
    his face, stroking the lines of jaw and cheekbones with fingers strong  
    enough to crush them. 
     
    "Korgano," she repeated, her voice tender. He didn't let it deceive  
    him. He'd seen what she could do; the sudden quenching of Yanhe  
    left him with no doubts of her cruelty. It was a narrow path he was  
    navigating through her dark nature, and a misstep would mean not  
    only his destruction but death for his ship... Somehow, it was hard to  
    marshal his usual concern for his vessel, his crew; the situation  
    demanded that he submerge himself in the basic, yet infinitely  
    treacherous circle that was the heart of the alien civilization.   
     
    "I thought you would never come," she spoke again, fingertips  
    trailing down his chest. The delicate pressure focused on a nipple,  
    urged it to firmness.  
     
    "Has it been so long?" he asked hoarsely. Small tingles of pleasure  
    spun out from her teasing grip. Without willing it, he nudged closer  
    to her warmth.  
     
    Her eyes lowered demurely. "Yes," she whispered. "I thought I had  
    lost you." Her other hand reached out for his, dabbled fingers in his  
    palm.  
     
    "Lost, only to be found," he countered, taking the next step in their  
    verbal dance. He was finding the rhythm easy to slip into, pairing his  
    response with an answering caress. "Or have I found you?" he  
    suggested. 
     
    She stiffened, the gold eyes seized him. "You will never catch me,  
    Korgano. No matter how fine a hunter you are, no matter how long  
    the pursuit," she hissed softly, threatening to break the pattern of  
    exchange. 
     
    "Do you want to be chased forever?" he asked simply. She relaxed a  
    little, looked away. Sensing an opening, he pressed the attack. "Do  
    you not want to taste the pleasures of being caught -- and then begin  
    the hunt again, this time as the hunter?" 
     
    That caught her attention. A faint smile touched her lips. "To hunt  
    again," she mused. "To hunt *you*, my sweet Korgano?" 
     
    "Without me, you are not whole... you live for the heat and passion of  
    the hunt, as do I," he answered softly. 
     
    The gold eyes widened, and she suddenly moved, seizing his  
    shoulders. For a grim moment, he feared he'd made a mistake, and  
    then she was holding him close, barely enough room between them  
    for air to circulate through, laughing softly. "Yes. Yes, my lovely  
    Korgano. You know me far too well." Her hands were cupping his face  
    now. "And I am hungry, my sweet, aching with hunger for those  
    pleasures you tempt me with. It has been so long. Ah, but I still  
    remember your softness beneath me, when last you captured me." A  
    finger running along his lips probed into his mouth and tested him.  
    Obeying the unspoken demand, he parted his lips and took it in,  
    suckling gently on it as she searched him.  
     
    "Well? Tell me, my love, how will you please me this time?" she  
    murmured. Her hand slipped around him, rested against his back and  
    coaxed him closer. He felt her hard cock pressing against his own,  
    now her fingers drawing away from his mouth to open his uniform  
    and allow her access to his body. Pulling her close, Jean-Luc closed  
    his eyes and brought their mouths together in a fathomless kiss as  
    she slipped fingers inside his undergarment to get at his sex, rubbing  
    strong, talented fingers over him. Delight flooded him at her touch, so  
    skilled and thorough in its investigation. The taste of her mouth was  
    startlingly cool, fresh as a breeze on a hot summer's day, and he  
    drank it in deeply. His shaft was rising under her nurturing hand.  
     
    Jean-Luc knew he had to take action. /I must be in control/ He  
    silently repeated the words as a mantra. His discipline helped him  
    focus past the wonderful sensations of her touch. Leaning against her  
    more firmly, he searched her mouth deliberately and slid his hands  
    down her back to the firm buttocks. Planting his feet apart, he  
    cupped them and brought her pelvis against his. The fastenings of  
    her uniform came undone easily; he slipped the blouse off her  
    shoulders, eased the trousers down her slim, muscular legs. His  
    mouth descended to her throat, tongue lightly flickering into the  
    hollow at the base of her neck. Urged on by her soft sigh of  
    contentment, he continued on to her shoulders, moist breath tickling  
    her skin. She held still now under his tender ministrations, only her  
    hands exerting pressure on his hips to keep them tightly nestled  
    against each other. He felt the throbbing of his loins fall into sync  
    with hers, only two pieces of thin fabric between their members.  
    Sensing his body's quick approach to climax, he pulled away a little,  
    trying to buy some breathing time, and lowered them to the floor.  
     
    "Do I please you?" he whispered against her skin. His lips strolled  
    over her chest, lingering on each nipple until it hardened to a taut  
    peak.  
     
    "Oh... yes, my beloved. Yes..." she sighed as he skimmed fingers  
    lightly over her thighs, teasing the inner skin. One hand flattened  
    against her abdomen, eased its way under the elastic band to the soft  
    curls nestling around her sex and slid cupping fingers over the hard,  
    throbbing shaft. A delighted gasp escaped her, her hips lifting to  
    press the cock more firmly into his hand. Slowly, he uncovered the  
    stiffly erect organ, ran fingers over the supple surface. She moaned  
    softly, caressing hands on his head urging him lower. He knew what  
    she wanted and complied, his mouth traveling gradually down her  
    body. She smiled down at him and presented the cock to his mouth,  
    placing the head against his lips, and then he was parting them to  
    encompass the firm length. The tender head, slightly moist with a  
    vaguely salty fluid, slid easily over his tongue, leading the rest of her  
    sex into his mouth until his lips were at her base.  Her hands clasped  
    the back of his head, holding him down on her, urging him on. She  
    was pulsing under his mouth, little cries marking his triumph over  
    her senses. It was heady to give a pleasure that he understood; he  
    didn't have to guess what sensations she was experiencing. He  
    imagined each liquid caress as if it were being performed on his own  
    body, and his own sex hardened even as hers did, pumping heat  
    through his system. He felt her shudder deeply and prepared to  
    bring her to climax, but suddenly she was rising up, withdrawing  
    slowly from his hold. 
     
    She kissed him roughly, tongue invasive and demanding while her  
    hands seized the collar of his uniform blouse and tore it apart easily.  
    Her hands pressed him into the floor, his back warm against the  
    stones, and similarly ripped away his loinguard. She seized his cock  
    in one hand, pumping the shaft as if she intended to strip him of  
    every last drop of juice, and took the soft sac of his sex in the other,  
    rubbing fingers discovering his most intimate parts. Responding to  
    the exquisitely agonizing manipulation, his whole being seemed to  
    liquify into an erotic daze, waves of pleasure undulating through  
    him. 
     
    Then the pressure came: she lifted his hips up and positioned him  
    over her cock, the hardness of her body hot and wet against the  
    tender flesh as she sought entry to his body. Lying on the heated  
    stone, his eyes fixed on the raging sun symbol in the ceiling, he found  
    it hard to believe that this was truly happening, despite her body  
    kneeling between his thighs, his legs circling the hard form and his  
    buttocks resting against the hard length of her shaft. He felt her take  
    the cock in her hand and insert it into his tight opening, and then the  
    heat was no longer merely against him but within him, the well- 
    lubricated head easily forcing its way past his body's resistance. And  
    the realization of what was being done to him, that he was accepting  
    all of it, was forced upon him by the exquistely real presence of that  
    hardness inside his body, stretching the tight ring of muscle almost  
    past bearing.  
     
    "Masaka..!" the cry broke from his lips, urgent and demanding, and  
    she complied, thrusting up and pulling his hips down to bring her to  
    full penetration. Buried inside him, the cock seemed to come alive,  
    pulsating and throbbing even though she didn't move, swelling to  
    even greater size. The increasing pressure moved him to action; he  
    had to relieve that deliciously painful force. Clenching the muscles in  
    his buttocks tightly, he was rewarded with a hiss of pleasure from  
    his queen, and he began to repeat the motion, closing himself on the  
    hard cock over and over. Her breath came faster, faster, and now he  
    could feel her body trembling against his own aroused manhood,  
    which she suddenly grasped, squeezed in rhythm with his pumping.  
    He knew she was on the verge of climax, shivered at the thought of  
    the rushing juices that would fill him in just a moment, and started  
    moving his body against her with a desperate hunger to make her  
    release.  
     
    "Ah, Korgano," she whispered, softly. "Only you could pleasure me  
    so... " A cry of delight broke from her lips as he thrust himself down  
    against her and squeezed with all his strength, and she loosed  
    explosively, the liquid satisfaction raging through him like a torrent.  
    It lit a fire within him, the need for his own release was a torment  
    now, but suddenly Masaka was sated and rising from his still-hungry  
    body.  
     
    More aroused than ever, he weakly raised himself to one elbow,  
    staring at her. Her smile was feline, smug. "You are right again, my  
    love. The pleasure of being caught is well worth the long sleep." She  
    stroked his cheek. "Farewell, then. Until it is time for me to capture  
    you!" Suddenly, the golden eyes drooped shut. 
     
    Taking off the mask, Data looked around in some puzzlement, his  
    recent memory a stubborn blank. He did not recall having left the  
    Enterprise, yet he was in a strange, primitive temple. And then he  
    recognized the symbols around him as coming from the archive, even  
    as he noted that the strange surroundings were reverting swiftly to  
    the Enterprise's mundane decor. A faint groan caught his attention,  
    and he stared at Captain Picard, stark naked, in a state of arousal  
    that Data could not help but recognize as painful for a human male,  
    struggling into a sitting position on a section of granite floor that was  
    in imminent danger of dissolving beneath him. All this information  
    was processed through Data's system with preternatural speed,  
    which gave him time to reach forward and lift the captain in his  
    arms as the temple vanished.  
     
    The sensation of skin against skin brought it to his attention that he  
    was also completely naked. A quick check of his internal systems  
    revealed that he had just engaged in sex and achieved orgasm, the  
    sensory recordings implying that the sex had been with a male. Data  
    was surprised, as Captain Picard had never previously expressed  
    sexual desire for him, but the circumstances did not allow for any  
    other conclusion. /How regrettable that I do not remember the  
    experience/ Data mused, surveying Jean-Luc's muscular body 
    The captain's present condition indicated that he had _not_ yet  
    achieved orgasm, and was probably suffering severe discomfort. A  
    quick glance revealed that the room's privacy lock was engaged and  
    that a large couch was available against the far wall.  
     
    Picard was still dazed from sensory overload and had trouble  
    focusing on his surroundings as Data carried him easily over to the  
    soft couch and lay him upon it. Letting his body relax into the  
    cushions, Picard slowly managed to separate himself from the  
    Korgano role he'd been so tangled up in, struggling to quiet the hectic  
    fever in his veins that cried for release. 
     
    "Captain?" Data nudged gently. Jean-Luc managed to focus on him. "I  
    seem to have suffered a memory loss for the several hours, so I must  
    ask a slightly... *odd* question. I am correct in assuming that we  
    have been engaging in sexual intercourse?" he asked.  
     
    "Ahhh, er, actually... well, yes, Data," Picard forced out, torn between  
    his instinctive embarrassment at the whole situation and his  
    desperate need for the release of an orgasm. It took all his self- 
    control not to beg Data to finish what Masaka had started. 
     
    "Hm. That _was_ my conclusion." Data tilted his head and considered  
    the next appropriate move. "I am flattered that you have desired to  
    have sex with me, but may I inquire why you have never mentioned  
    this desire previously?" 
     
    "Data, I should explain..." He swallowed, remembering the last few  
    moments in Masaka's arms. "You were taken over by various  
    personalities from the alien archive. Most recently, by the queen of  
    that society, a being called Masaka. The only way I could  
    communicate with her was by impersonating her, um, consort,  
    Korgano, and, well, er... to make a long story short, I succeeded in  
    convincing her to leave," he concluded hastily. 
     
    "Ah. So you engaged in sexual intercourse with this Masaka in order  
    to protect the Enterprise, not out of attraction to me." Data,  
    unaccountably, felt disappointed. He decided it was regret for a lost  
    experience. /It would have been most intriguing to be the captain's  
    lover./  
     
    Picard blushed slightly at Data's blunt way of putting it. "Data," he  
    said, gently, "I'm sorry--I had no right to use your body in that way,  
    even if you were possessed, it's still your body, not Masaka's." 
     
    "Captain, I do not mind." Data deliberated whether it would be  
    appropriate to ask Captain Picard to repeat the experience. /He is  
    certainly aroused/ he noted. "I merely regret that I do not remember  
    the incident," he explained, wistfully. 
     
    "Oh." Jean-Luc and Data stared at each other for a few moments.  
    Searching his memory for some applicable information, Data noted  
    that in similar situations in most human fiction, it was appropriate to  
    engage in 'foreplay' of some sort. Rather tentatively, he leaned  
    forward and kissed the captain. Jean-Luc closed his eyes, _knowing_  
    that he should put a stop to this rapidly complicating situation, but  
    unable to quell the unreasoning pleasure spurred by the embrace.  
    Marshalling his willpower, he gently took Data's shoulders in his  
    hands and disengaged.  
     
    "Data..." He stopped, heaved a breath. "Data, I... we shouldn't do this." 
     
    Data tilted his head quizzically. "Sir, I am somewhat confused... you  
    are clearly aroused. Your physical response to our contact," he  
    glanced at Picard's quite erect member, "indicates that you found it  
    enjoyable. Why, then, should we not continue?" He frowned. "Perhaps  
    you do not feel that we know each other well enough for intimacy?"  
     
    "No--no, Data." Picard smoothed a hand over his head. "I consider you  
    a close friend, it's not that at all. But... Data, I'm your commanding  
    officer, and the emotional complications of..." he trailed off, realizing  
    what he was saying was totally irrelevant where Data was concerned.  
    "Well. Maybe not the emotional complications. Data, the fact is that I  
    don't think that we're suited for a relationship," he tried again. 
     
    "But humans often engage in sex without forming any sort of  
    permanent relationship," Data pointed out.  
     
    Jean-Luc sighed. Reasonably, trying to make Data see how foolish  
    such a suggestion was, he asked, "Data, would you like us to simply  
    have sex this one time, then go on as if it never happened?" 
     
    "Yes," came the answer. "That would certainly be acceptable." 
     
    "Oh," he said weakly. "Um. Well... in that case..." He was at a loss for  
    words. Taking silence as consent, Data moved closer, thighs brushing  
    his, and kissed him again, less tentatively this time. It _was_ nice...  
    especially as Data's hands moved to encircle his torso, drawing him  
    close. And no discipline could have sufficed after the skilled hand  
    insinuated itself between his thighs, the touch at once soothing and  
    exacerbating the ache. He couldn't stifle a cry of mixed pleasure and  
    pain. 
     
    Sensing his need, Data proceeded to swiftly lower himself and take  
    Picard's achingly erect cock in his mouth. Data knew every pleasure  
    point on the male body and made sure to exploit every one within  
    reach, stroking the sensitive hollows behind the knees, running  
    fingers up the captain's muscled calves to gently knead the firm  
    thighs and buttocks, all the while sucking with just the perfect  
    amount of pull on the throbbing shaft.  
     
    Pleasure was exploding through Jean-Luc's system, the nerves  
    lighting up with the all-too-knowing caresses that clearly revealed  
    that Data knew him better than he did. The mouth over his manhood  
    was as satisfying as any sheath he'd ever filled, his sensitized head  
    being gently pressured by a swallowing motion of the throat muscles  
    and the skilled tongue rubbing over his entire length. The erotic  
    tracery of his legs sent quivers through him, his whole body began to  
    rock in response to Data's sensual assault. It was impossible to think,  
    to control as the passion took him. 
     
    Data recognized that Picard was very close to orgasm, but needed the  
    stimulation of penetration. He found that he was very eager to  
    experience the sensation of being entered himself... while he had no  
    _feelings_, he did enjoy new experiences, and he had never fully  
    explored sex. The act of making love to another man was intensely  
    different from pleasuring a woman, and that it was the Captain, the  
    man he most admired, made the experience even more... interesting.  
    Drawing his mouth slowly over the cock, Data shifted up again, lying  
    body against body with Picard, holding the captain in his arms and  
    kissing him deeply, tongue probing.  
     
    Data's cock, already hard again, bounced lightly against his genitals,   
    teasing the sensitive, tender skin between his thighs. Picard ground  
    his hips against the other's, and when that proved not to satisfy,  
    reached down and grasped Data's shaft, started rubbing his own cock  
    with the lubricated length. The kisses were searching his mouth,  
    invading him with consummate skill, and then a hand was warm  
    against his buttocks, a single finger gently invading him from the  
    opposite end. The triangle of pleasure was bringing him to the edge-- 
    thrusting himself between Data's thighs while still stimulating  
    himself with the firm cock, Jean-Luc slid a hand behind Data's head,  
    held him close, their mouths tangled together, and savored the  
    currents of excitement running through his body.  
     
    "Captain," Data murmured softly, licking Picard's lips delicately, "I... I 
    would like you inside me," he requested tentatively, unsure how to  
    phrase his desire. The suggestion instantly inflamed Picard; he  
    suddenly had to be inside the tight male channel and possess it. 
     
    "Data," Jean-Luc groaned against his mouth. "Oh, yes, please..." He  
    impatiently waited the few instants as Data rolled onto his stomach  
    and presented a perfectly smooth and firm backside to his view.  
    Eagerly mounting him, Jean-Luc poised his hard shaft at the opening  
    and entered with deliberate slowness, enjoying the sensation of  
    being enveloped as each centimeter of his length made its way past  
    the tight portal into the hot, slick depths until he was encased in  
    Data's body. He worked his hips, thrusting and grinding against the  
    deliciously tight buttocks that were contracting on him in a way that  
    made his own earlier endeavors pale by comparison.  
     
    The penetration was setting off a wild flurry of sensors in his frame  
    as the captain moved against him. Data let a subroutine take over his  
    muscle control and concentrated on sorting out the intense flood of  
    perceptions traveling down his pathways; the stimulation, so unlike  
    any previous experience, awoke sensations he had no words to  
    describe. His body automatically began rocking in sync with Picard's,  
    his penis rubbing against the smooth cushiony fabric of the couch in  
    a subtle and tantalizing counterpoint to the marked rhythm of the  
    body above his.  
     
    The tempo of the contractions increased, muscles rippling around his  
    shaft with precise control, matching the urgent thrusting. And a  
    single contraction suddenly caught Jean-Luc at deepest penetration,  
    the wave of pressure moving over his cock from head to base... the  
    world literally faded with the pleasure; his eyes blacked out with the  
    rush as his body bucked against Data's and released him from the  
    iron grip of arousal into the warm clasp of an orgasmic rush. Spent,  
    he lay trembling on top of Data, who gave a strangely satisfied sigh  
    and deftly rearranged their bodies so he was clasping Picard in his  
    arms. Entangled with him, Jean-Luc felt exhaustion creep over him  
    and let his body relax into sleep. 
     
    The captain's rhythmic breathing told Data he'd drifted off.  
    Wondering at the intense sensations that his mind was still  
    attempting to process, he let his hands lightly stroke over Picard's  
    body, careful not to wake him. He knew that even if Jean-Luc, like  
    Tasha, never acknowledged their encounter again, it was still an  
    experience he would always value. 
     
    	*** 
    
    The End! 
     
    >whew!< this is about twice as long as I had planned, partially  
    because I saw "Eye of the Beholder" and got so annoyed with the  
    writers I had to stick in a Worf-Troi scene. :P Hope you all liked it. I  
    think I'm going to go get some sleep now. 
     
    And join us next time on TNS when we hear Doctor Crusher say, 
    "Open wide, Jean-Luc!" 
    


	4. Physical Contact


     
    And now it's time for yet another episode of... 
     
    Star Trek: The Next Sensation 
    To boldly go where only naughty fans have gone before! 
     
    Episode 4: Physical Contact 
     
    PLEASE NOTE!!! 
     
    The following short story is rated NC-17, with _very_ good reason. It  
    is meant for adult readers with open minds. This is a piece of erotic,  
    rather than science, fiction, even though it is written about the  
    characters from Star Trek: The Next Generation.  
     
    You are welcome to pass this story around except for a few caveats: 
     
    1) Keep this entire header attached and keep the story together 
    2) Don't make money off it in any way whatsoever. 
     
    Thanks! 
     
    Credit for kamireh goes to another net.naughty.scribe, the Phantom!  
    :) 
    And thanks to G.Rozman for the idea! 
     
    Paramount is wholly non-responsible for this story, and all standard  
    disclaimers apply.  
    Star Trek and its characters are registered trade marks of  
    Paramount, Inc., and no copyright infringement is intended. 
    copyright 1994, the lady of shalott 
     
    All Rights Reserved 
     
     
    *** 
    Beverly had never been so furious in her life. /That... that arrogant,  
    pompuous, self-important JERK!/ She blew through the doors of  
    Sickbay and stormed into her office, her expression so forbidding no  
    one dared speak to her. Dropping into a chair, she drummed her  
    fingertips on the tabletop. How _could_ he have been so... so *rude*?  
    Her mind drifted back to the morning's breakfast, just before the  
    Enterprise had docked at Starbase 14 for some R&R. 
     
    *** 
     
    "Jean-Luc, the Acamryn Orchestra is here at SB 14 and they're going  
    to put on a performance this afternoon. Will you join me?" Beverly  
    asked. 
     
    "Hm? Oh, yes, certainly. I've heard great praise of their work." He  
    finished off his coffee. "Would you care to have lunch beforehand?" 
     
    "Sounds good to me. I'll meet you in the main rec room of SB 14 at...  
    1200 hours?" 
     
    "Excellent." They cleared off the table and went their separate ways. 
     
    *** 
     
    /And then he keeps me standing there like a fool in the rec room for  
    an hour while he chats archaeology with the slowest-speaking  
    human I have ever met, ignores every hint I drop, and even makes  
    me miss the first ten minutes of the performance!/ Thinking about it  
    was making her even angrier. Shoving it out of her mind, she tried to  
    turn to her work. 
     
    "Computer, download Starfleet medical regulations update from SB  
    14 main computer." But it was impossible not to dwell on it. Jean-Luc  
    was usually such a gentleman the incident seemed almost more  
    unforgivable by contrast. /Having a 'fascinating intellectual  
    discussion with Professor Markens' indeed! 'Perhaps I'll meet you at  
    the concert later' he says!/ Bev was really fuming now. /What he  
    needs is a good spanking!/ 
     
    The door to her office chimed. "Come," she snapped. Dr. Selar entered. 
     
    "Doctor Crusher, I note that you are somewhat upset." The Vulcan  
    woman paused slightly. "Perhaps it would be more logical for me to  
    update our records." 
     
    Beverly was embarrassed. She was usually too professional to bring  
    her personal life on duty with her. Firmly pushing aside her  
    irritation, she shook her head. "No, Selar, that won't be necessary,"  
    she essayed a smile. "I'll be fine, trust me. I just need to be alone  
    right now." 
     
    Selar took the hint and exited. Moving her eyes to the screen Beverly  
    began scrolling over the revised regs that covered the entry of  
    several new races into the Federation. None of the new alien societies  
    had members serving on the Enterprise right now, but she always  
    liked to have the most up-to-date medical information on hand. 
     
    "Computer, back one screen!" Staring at the type, she started to  
    laugh. /The 24th century and we still can't avoid typos./ She shook  
    her head and made a mental note to inform Starfleet Medical of the  
    error. "Resume scrolling." Another two pages marched by before she  
    suddenly stopped cold. An enormous, wicked grin spread over her  
    face as she hurriedly reviewed the erroneous paragraph.  
     
    /Jean-Luc Picard, you have just crossed the wrong woman./ she  
    gloated. 
     
    *** 
     
    At that moment, Jean-Luc Picard was sitting in his ready room,  
    rather ill-at-ease. He knew he owed Bev a thorough apology. /I acted  
    dreadfully/ he thought with remorse. /I should have explained that  
    Profesor Markens is the archaeologist who is following up on  
    Professor Galen's work. If only he'd been staying another few hours!/  
    A sip of Earl Grey did nothing to soothe his conscience -- or his  
    nerves. Apologies were not his strong point, as he usually made such  
    an effort to be in the right that they weren't necessary. But he'd  
    already put it off long enough. Much longer and Beverly would be  
    coming up with some plan of revenge. 
     
    His PADD beeped softly, indicating a message. A check revealed... an  
    appointment for a mandatory physical. /Too late/ he groaned  
    mentally. Physicals were a nuisance he hated to put up with.  
    Unfortunately, since he'd put his off for several months now, Beverly  
    was well within her rights to drag him in. He set down the teacup  
    with an annoyed clink, noting the exam was in one hour. /Well, I'll  
    just go then and apologize before the examination. I'd have to get the  
    damn thing sometime anyway, and Beverly may forgive me more  
    easily if she feels she's gotten me back/ he decided, smiling wryly. 
     
    *** 
     
    Bev smiled angelically down at him as she adjusted the restraining  
    field. "Now, this won't take long at all," she promised sweetly. 
     
    Jean-Luc glared at her. "This is absolutely ridiculous!" he exploded,  
    not for the first time in the last ten minutes. Shifting, he instinctively 
    tested the fluid force field bonds holding him to the examination bed.  
    They were quite secure. "Dammit, Beverly, I apologized! Please take  
    this damn thing off me!" 
     
    She batted ingenuous eyelashes at him. "Why Jean-Luc, I don't know  
    what you mean. I've already shown you the new regulations." 
     
    "We both know that that is a completely blatant error! It's meant for  
    the al'Oficerians, not 'all officers'! They *have* to be tied down for  
    physicals because they float away otherwise!!" 
     
    "Well, I'm sorry, captain, but the regs say, 'all officers must be  
    restrained during physical examinations,' and I intend to stick to  
    them," she declared loftily.  
     
    He resigned himself to the inevitable as Beverly wheeled up a *large*  
    cart loaded with various drugs and instruments he couldn't recognize  
    and felt no desire to become acquainted with. She gave him an  
    openly naughty grin as she picked up a sharp-edged scalpel. He  
    nervously watched the movement of the blade as she brought it  
    close. Moments later, his uniform separated along the seams, leaving  
    him clad only in black cotton briefs. Sickbay was warm enough with  
    clothes on, but stripped he was shivering slightly, as, he realized, Bev  
    intended. /She is just going to make this as uncomfortable as  
    possible/ he thought savagely. "Is this really necessary?" he  
    demanded. "What if someone comes in?!" That thought hadn't  
    occurred to him. He did _not_ want to be seen barely clothed in this  
    already embarrassing situation. 
     
    "Yes, it is necessary. And don't worry -- I've engaged the privacy  
    lock," she replied dulcetly, patting his shoulder. /Thank goodness for  
    small mercies/ he thought. She reached for a hypospray, still  
    smirking down at him. She missed. 
     
    <phsst> 
     
    "Oh!" she squealed, the drug leaping into her system. 
     
    /Serves you right!/ Jean-Luc couldn't help thinking smugly. She  
    stood motionless, eyes widening, then slowly turned away in a dazed,  
    almost drunken fashion. "Beverly?" he asked, suddenly concerned. 
     
    "Mm. You know, I feel... very... warm, all of a sudden." She shrugged  
    the lab coat off onto the floor. "What on earth is wrong with the  
    atmospheric controls in here? It is stifling!" Before his stunned eyes,  
    she slid her hands up to the uniform collar and pulled it open. The  
    smooth expanse of her back, all graceful lines and creamy skin,  
    slowly emerged as she folded the garment off her shoulders, letting  
    it slither down her body. Her head fell forward as she lifted the rich,  
    glowing fall of auburn hair from her neck with a sigh. "Ohh, that's  
    *so* much better." She pushed the jumpsuit over her hips, stepped  
    out of it. Unable to stifle an instinctive reaction, Jean-Luc felt his  
    mouth water at the sight of her slim legs, long and flowing. She wore  
    only a single undergarment, and he could see just the hint of the  
    curves of her full breasts to either side of her back. Reluctantly, he  
    averted his eyes from the tantalizing sight, but it was too late to  
    avoid a certain faint tightening in his groin, stirring of illicit 
    pleasure.  
     
    Swallowing hard, he forced his voice out. "Beverly." 
     
    "Mm?" she murmured hazily.  
     
    /I have to see what's happening to her/ he told himself, trying to  
    rationalize a look in her direction. Fortunately, of course, she had  
    pulled the thin lab coat back on, tying it around her waist. He ignored  
    the sensation of disappointment, tried and failed to ignore the  
    succulent display of legs and cleavage that the robe left open to view.  
     
    "Beverly! What was in that hypospray!!" Turning to look at the tray,  
    she picked up the spray and examined it in bright-eyed fascination.  
     
    "Hm. Concentrated extract of kamireh!" she announced cheerfully.  
    Jean-Luc stared in horror. Kamireh, the Ishtarian drug, was one of  
    the most powerful aphrodisiacs available in its normal form!  
    /Concentrated extract?!? What the hell is something like that doing  
    in Sickbay?/ He started to fight the restraining field, knowing he had  
    to get loose and get help for her immediately. 
     
    She felt glowingly warm, all her nerves tingling. /What was I doing?/  
    she wondered, biting her lip in perplexity. Jean-Luc's movement  
    caught her eye. /Oh yes! Now I remember. I was teaching Jean-Luc a  
    lesson/ She moved to the controls of the restraining field. 
     
    "Yes, Beverly, that's right. Turn off the field," he said, relieved. 
     
    After blinking at him in momentary confusion, she frowned and  
    shook a reproving finger at him. "Oh no. I'm not turning off the field."  
    She fiddled with the controls until the field shifted him, gradually  
    turning him over onto his stomach. 
     
    He couldn't see her anymore! "What are you doing?" he demanded  
    anxiously, trying to peer over his shoulder. 
     
    "You were very rude today, Jean-Luc," she lectured sternly. 
     
    "I'm sorry! How many times do I have to explain!" he burst out,  
    jerking against the restraints ineffectually. 
     
    "Stop that." Her hand pressed against his back to stop his movements.  
    "It's very easy to *say* you're sorry. I want to make sure you never  
    do this again." 
     
    He sighed, and began to explain in a reasonable tone. "I promise, I  
    won't -- ow!" Her hand came down firmly on his buttocks, startling  
    him. "Beverly!" he yelled, scandalized. "What the devil do you think  
    you're doing!!" 
     
    "You need a good spanking," she informed him. <Whack!> her hand  
    descended again. The blows, like shocking splashes of cold water,  
    woke him up rather than hurt him. But the situation was intolerable  
    nevertheless!   
     
    "Beverly," he spoke icily, voice as forbidding and cold as he could  
    make it, "I *order* you to release me from this field this instant!" She  
    paused, hand resting on his backside. 
     
    "No." she responded brightly. 
     
    "NO?!? What do you mean, 'no'! I just gave you an order!" 
     
    She patted his rear. "Sorry, Jean-Luc. But I haven't finished  
    examining you yet." She giggled faintly. "Besides, this is fun. Has  
    anyone ever told you you have a nice --" 
     
    "NO!! They have NOT! And I don't want anyone to, either!" His voice  
    crescendoed upward dramatically. 
     
    "Alright then, I won't. But you do." She patted the portion of his  
    anatomy in question once again, and gave him a pinch for good  
    measure, inducing the sound of audibly grinding teeth. The flesh  
    under her hand was satisfyingly firm, a pleasure to hold cupped in  
    her hand. Beverly indulged a sudden yen to feel the texture of his  
    skin under her fingers and leaned forward to put her hands on his  
    arms, stretched over his head. The hardened biceps tensed under her  
    caress, the slightly roughened skin rippling over the shifting muscles  
    as she kneaded her way down, over his shoulders and taut neck.  
    Every sensation seemed magnified a thousand times to her; the mild  
    tremors of his body under her hands thrilled through her like music.  
     
    Jean-Luc struggled against the restraints only weakly now as  
    Beverly's hands wreaked havoc on his system, massaging and  
    stroking their way to victory over his senses. She skimmed her  
    hands down his back, half-tickling his sides with her fingertips until  
    she was back at his waist, hands resting just above the thin cotton  
    briefs. Excitement bloomed in the pit of his stomach as she tucked  
    one hand into them, rubbing the tender skin of his buttocks and  
    gently squeezing them. His head slumped, forehead resting against  
    the smooth padding of the table, as his breath became audibly  
    labored. 
     
    His pants were stimulating, the soft gasps revealing her power over  
    him. Beverly closed her eyes, enjoyed the sensuous rhythm of his  
    body's arousal and the tight curves moving slightly under her hand.  
    The scalpel, right at hand, sliced through the briefs as easily as it had  
    through his uniform. To pull the fabric away, she reached a hand  
    through his thighs, felt his sex throb against her palm as she grasped  
    the remnant and gently tugged it away. "Ahh," Jean-Luc hissed at the  
    fleeting contact, body jerking. And then he was completely exposed,  
    the most sensitive skin open to the air and her greedy eyes. Not  
    being able to see her was the most maddening part of it all; unable to  
    anticipate a single move she made, Jean-Luc could only try to  
    imagine what she would do to him. 
     
    Beverly was still vaguely intent on punishing him, although the  
    sensual pleasure flooding her body at every venue threatened to  
    push all other concerns from her mind. Almost absently, she spanked  
    him again, more for the pleasure of his pliant flesh bouncing against  
    her sensitized hand than to lesson him. Jean-Luc gasped satisfyingly  
    as her hand clapped against his backside. Helpless to stop her, he  
    could abandon himself without guilt to enjoyment of the stimulating  
    warmth of her almost gentle paddling. Her lips on him came as a  
    sweet surprise, brushing a chain of soft, feathery kisses from the  
    base of his neck down his spine. The moist, yielding lips swept over  
    his shoulders, back to the sides of his throat, where a teasing tongue  
    slipped out to trace the lines of his ear. Soft moans broke from him,   
    inciting her to repeat the trail she'd just left, this time with open- 
    mouthed, suckling kisses that intensified the ache building in his  
    loins. His skin, lightly coated with sweat, tasted salty on her tongue,  
    each shuddering breath he took vibrating against her mouth in a  
    symphony of desire.  
     
    "Mmm..." she breathed out her satisfaction, her breath shivering  
    against his skin. Her hands left his tingling buttocks to rub down his  
    thighs, her mouth dropping to the small of his back. His convulsive  
    movements had nothing of escape about them now, he merely  
    reacted to the delicious survey she was making of his body.  
     
    "Beverly," he groaned hungrily. In all the times he'd wondered,  
    fantasized, about yielding to his long-standing desire for the  
    beautiful doctor, he'd never imagined such an illicitly torrid scenario.  
    He'd thought in terms of gentle seduction and slow, warm  
    lovemaking rather than the searing sexual passion that filled him  
    now, rendering him more helpless than the restraining field.  
     
    Warm pressure against his legs revealed that Beverly had climbed  
    onto the table, straddling his thighs. The soft inner skin of her legs  
    grazed his while she rubbed his back again, then leaned forward,  
    laying herself atop him. As her mouth buried itself in the curve of  
    his neck, her hands reached beneath him, caressing his chest and  
    pulling them close. Questing fingers sought out his nipples,  
    manipulating them to hardness, while her own delicious breasts  
    pressed against his back through the lab coat, the hint of her tender  
    peaks vividly present. Her body nestled against his, she nuzzled him,  
    teeth catching his skin in little nibbling bites. Moving in languid  
    circles over his torso, her hands spiraled downwards to his firm  
    abdomen, sparking shivers of anticipation that were soon fulfilled.  
    Jean-Luc shuddered softly, Beverly twined a hand between his legs  
    to grip the smooth shaft. It leaped at her touch, responded to each  
    stroke with eager pulses, a rhythm against her fingers.  
     
    She drew her other hand to the robe, impatiently freeing herself  
    from its confines to press firm breasts to his warm skin. She rubbed  
    her cheek against his shoulder tenderly. What exquisite sensations  
    were running through her, as she sounded the range of his body's  
    tones. Here hard muscle, built up under taut, satiny skin; here an  
    utterly different hardness, rigid yet pliant under a velvety-soft  
    surface. Musky and indefinably male, his teasing scent filled her  
    breath, the light sheen of sweat faintly salty to the taste. Taut lips  
    parted for her inquisitive fingers, devouring them hungrily. A shock  
    ran down her at the tender suckling, her hand tightening  
    involuntarily on his manhood, wringing a groan -- of delight? of  
    agony? -- from him.  
     
    "Beverly! Oh, I... I *need* you," he cried out, harsh sobbing breaths  
    punctuating the sentence. 
     
    "Yes, yes, Jean-Luc, I want you," she promised weakly, reaching for  
    the field controls. Some perversity kept her from simply turning it  
    off; perhaps it was the wickedly heady power it gave her, to control  
    him so utterly. But she shortly managed to have him turned again;  
    now he lay on his back, arms still extended overhead, the eyes,  
    fastened on her face, glittering bright with passion. Climbing back  
    onto him, she turned the scalpel on her own undergarment, took his  
    shaft in her hands, reveling in the flush that surged over his  
    expressive face, desire writ plain on his aristocratic features.  
    Teasingly, she stroked her sex with the blood-dark head, feeling him  
    strain towards the moist warmth in an attempt to thrust. The  
    infuriating heat of her hands on his chest, she leaned over him, lips  
    millimeters away from his. "Say please," she whispered, eyes  
    dancing. Another stroke insured his compliance. 
     
    "Please!" The word was torn from him. Then the first warmth circled  
    his sensitive tip, enveloping folds taking him in slowly. His little  
    moan of satisfaction inflaming desire, she drove herself onto him  
    with one swift thrust. "Ahhh!" he cried, hips lifting into her, the hard  
    shaft pulsing within her, heartbeat against her deepest walls, a union  
    of intensity she'd always wanted, always feared. Almost sobbing  
    with the wildfire pleasure devouring her, Beverly only knew she  
    didn't ever want to let him go, wanted to hold that igniting presence  
    inside her. Tight clenching seized his shaft, the heated depths urging  
    him on to a peak along with her soft pattern of moans, her body  
    rocking against his, hands sliding over his heaving chest. She rose up  
    slightly, let the shaft almost slip from her, then plunged again,  
    closing her inner muscles around him, and he spent himself in one  
    orgasmic spasm, the fulfilling rush, sensation of being liquid within,  
    crashing like waves against her welcoming shores.  
     
    Trembling, she lay, snuggling against his strong chest, the softening  
    member still present inside her. He was collapsed entirely, eyes shut,  
    expressive mouth loosened by his release. Her nerves still sang,  
    joyful chords of afterglow playing through her. Jean-Luc felt her  
    nuzzle his chest gently. "Mmm," she murmured, looking at him with  
    eyes that did not look at all tired.  
     
    Trembling, she lay, snuggling against his strong chest, the softening  
    member still present inside her. He was collapsed entirely, eyes shut,  
    expressive mouth loosened by his release. Her nerves still sang,  
    joyful chords of afterglow playing through her. Jean-Luc felt her  
    nuzzle his chest gently. "Mmm," she murmured, looking at him with  
    eyes that did not look at all tired.  
     
    He swallowed. "Beverly, maybe you should let me go now?" The  
    suggestion came out sounding plaintive instead of forceful as he'd  
    intended. Her answering smile looked rather discouraging. Or  
    encouraging. /She can't actually expect me to... again?/ Looking at  
    the Cheshire grin was giving him a rather apprehensive feeling.  
    "Beverly," he warned, "I, um, I'm really very tired." An  
    understatement... his body was spent and stiff from fighting the  
    bonds.  
     
    "Of course. Here, let me make you a bit more comfortable." Her voice  
    oozed consideration and understanding. Jean-Luc was not reassured.  
    The field relaxed just a little, maneuvered his arms to his sides. Now  
    able to shift about, if only a little, Picard tightened then relaxed his  
    muscles, trying to work out the stiffness, eyeing her suspiciously.  
    Beverly had rolled off him, and was curled against his side enjoying  
    the view, still smirking dangerously. "Are you very sore?" she asked  
    solicitously. 
     
    "Yes!!" he stated emphatically. 
     
    "My poor darling," she murmured huskily, hands moving to his  
    shoulders. A thorough massage followed, her hands kneaded all the  
    tension out of his stretched muscles, from the taut arms to his calves,  
    lingering rather longer than necessary on his upper thighs. Relaxing  
    under those skilled, tender fingers, he started to feel that perhaps a  
    second round wasn't out of the question when she suddenly slid to  
    the ground.  
     
    "Where are you going?" he was startled. 
     
    "Don't get lonely, Jean-Luc. I'll be right back..." her voice floated back  
    as she stepped into her office. She returned in a moment, holding a  
    small glass jar of amber liquid.  
     
    "What is that?" he inquired nervously.  
     
    Smiling, she dipped a finger into the liquid and offered it to his  
    mouth. Their eyes held as he suckled the finger, warm sweetness  
    between liquid and gel lingering on his tongue, mingling with the  
    faint salt aftertaste of her skin. /Warm honey/ he realized, licking  
    her clean and opening his mouth for another taste. Instead, she drew  
    the finger back, catching more of the viscuous liquid, and drizzled it  
    onto his chest, bending to retrieve the golden stream with her mouth.  
    Heated sticky trails wound around his nipples, hiding from her  
    seeking tongue to no avail. She was climbing back onto him,  
    devouring every last succulent drop from his flesh. The loosened  
    restraints let him writhe under the feast, gasping with delight.  
     
    "Like that?" she asked sensuously, kissing him lightly under one ear,  
    nibbling the lobe with still-sticky lips.  
     
    "Oh yes," was his heartfelt reply. He turned his head towards her,  
    eagerly catching her mouth with his own in a deep, penetrating kiss.  
    She cupped his face in her hands, let her tongue dance over his teeth,  
    revelling in his hungry response.  
     
    "Mmm." Eyes sparkling, she sat up, reached for the jar once more.  
    She tipped it this time, letting the thick flow wend its way down his  
    flat hips to nestle in the curls at the juncture of his thighs, and  
    picked up the rapidly reviving shaft to trickle the very last bit all  
    over the firming length. He almost bounced in a delight of  
    expectation, her mouth following the trail of honey with agonizing  
    slowness down, down... The sweet warmth was teasing between his  
    thighs now, deliberately cleaning up every trace of honey except the  
    final trail on his excited member.  
     
    She delayed so long he finally complained, "Beverly!" A throaty  
    chuckle answered, and her tongue was suddenly dancing on his  
    manhood, pleasing him with devious machinations.  
     
    "Mmmm," Beverly licked her lips, grinning devilishly at him before  
    licking up another line of honey from his shaft. Hips thrusting  
    slightly, he eagerly awaited her next tasting, sighing weakly with  
    pleasure. Still moving through a whirl of heightened senses, Beverly  
    found it wickedly delightful to drag out each loving stroke of her  
    tongue on him, to watch him moan so desperately. He was so sweetly  
    vulnerable, naked passion imprinted on every feature of the elegant  
    body. Finally, she sat back, all traces of delicious honey erased from  
    his equally delicious flesh, now rigid and straining after her just as  
    her own depths yearned for his satisfying fullness. 
     
    Delightful as it was to lie helpless under her tender ministrations,  
    Jean-Luc hungered to touch her, hold her in his arms and drive her  
    to the same maddening heights he had reached. "Beverly," he  
    pleaded huskily, "I want to please you, my love." 
     
    "How can I resist an offer like that?" she murmured against his ear,  
    stroking his cheek. Her other hand reached for the controls, finally  
    releasing him. Sitting up, he enfolded her body, strong arms pulling  
    her tight against him. Her arms circled his neck as he violently kissed  
    her breath away, drinking deep, deep of her sweetened mouth. One  
    hand trailed down her body, fingertips tickling lightly over the firm  
    curves of her breasts on a journey to her softly throbbing sex. He  
    dipped his fingers lightly into her wet cleft, lubricating them, before  
    moving to draw faint circles around her sensitive nub of pleasure.  
    Rhythmic pulses beat through her in time with his stroking, and she  
    worked her hips over his hand in response. "Ohh, harder, *harder*!"  
    she demanded, the light touch teasing her. Jean-Luc pushed her  
    gently back onto the bed, increasing the pressure around her clitoris  
    slightly, and bent to suckle a tender nipple while his free hand  
    teased the other breast to a rosy peak.  
     
    He sat back for a moment, breathing heavily, to enjoy the exquisite  
    sight laid out before him. Beverly's flame of hair fanned out against  
    the vibrant teal of the bed; her eyes, alight with pleasure, picked up  
    the bluegreen background. Pure creamy skin, flushed to rose by their  
    heated exertions, rubbed silken against his straddling thighs, where  
    her hands kneaded away at his taut muscles. His erect shaft danced  
    at the gateway of her sex, leaping energetically with every throb  
    until it was all he could do to restrain himself from burying his  
    manhood in her at once, but he was determined to pleasure her as  
    thoroughly as she'd done for him. Mouth watering in anticipation, he  
    bent hoveringly over her, dropping a light kiss in the hollow between  
    her breasts. 
     
    Beverly gripped the sides of the bed in convulsive delight as his  
    mouth tripped lightly down her chest, the intended destination clear.  
    His fingers searched her folds while he made his lingering way down,  
    the skilled digits coaxing her open and stroking just barely inside the  
    labia. And finally he arrived, lips closing around the tingling nub of  
    her clitoris, gently suckling the tender kernel while his fingers  
    sought deeper into her. They pressed up into her channel, meeting  
    the warm external pressure of his mouth, and started a cadence of  
    thrusting motions that brought her to a body-shuddering climax with  
    dramatic swiftness.  
     
    He felt her orgasm as the clenching muscles of her inner walls seized  
    on his fingers and her fluids anointed them. Eager to keep her at the  
    peak, he enveloped her folds with his mouth, tongue driving into the  
    froth of her ecstasy until she cried out wordlessly at the pleasure of  
    it. As the first wave broke and eased, he lifted his head after one  
    last, loving taste and moved forward, nestling between her thighs.  
    Taking his shaft in one hand, he used the achingly hard length of  
    himself to stroke the tender flesh of her inner thighs and the rich,  
    glistening folds of her labia with a feather-soft touch. Beverly made a  
    soft, pleased sound, and twined her thighs around him, her sex  
    invitingly open to his manhood. He could wait no longer; Jean-Luc  
    parted her folds and entered up to his hilt in the welcoming depths,  
    groaning with satisfaction as the liquid warmth of her closed about  
    him. His arms braced against the table, he started to rock against her,  
    urged on by her deliberate internal clenching. Their labored  
    breathing fell into step under the guidance of plunging thrusts, came  
    faster and came faster until a final mutual rush took them to an  
    eternal instant of utter gratification. 
     
    *** 
    
    Opening his eyes some time later, Jean-Luc noted from Beverly's  
    rhythmic breathing that she slept, cradled against his chest. He  
    stroked her hair, trying to decide what to do, where to take this  
    suddenly confusing relationship. /No matter what, I *couldn't* regret  
    this... even if I wanted to/ he admitted silently. It surprised him how  
    much he *didn't* want to. Their friendship, so settled and  
    comfortable, was easy and uncomplicated, like a well-worn piece of  
    clothing. They gave each other companionship, affection, even love,  
    and he'd thought passion a minor consideration after these, growing  
    from them. But now, still flush with afterglow, he found that passion  
    was not looking so minor after all.  
     
    He glanced down at the beautiful doctor snuggled with him. She was  
    sleeping heavily, lips parted. /Probably the kamireh, working out of  
    her system/ Then he stiffened, realizing what the drug meant for  
    this encounter. /Beverly didn't choose this/ he thought grimly.  
    /Under the influence of that much concentrated kamireh, it's just a  
    wonder she didn't jump on me immediately/ Closing his eyes, the  
    captain let his head fall back against the cushioned bed. /I can't  
    expect this to mean anything to her!/ Jean-Luc knew that if he did, it  
    might undermine their friendship. /And I won't risk that happening  
    just for the sake of my hormones/ 
     
    Slowly detangling himself from her, Jean-Luc hunted around for  
    something to wear. Unfortunately, nothing presented itself, as most  
    of the clothing in the room had been thoroughly sliced up. Giving up,  
    he found his comm badge and lifted Beverly in his arms. 
     
    "Picard to Transporter Room three. Two to beam directly to Dr.  
    Crusher's quarters, from my position. Energize," he ordered quickly  
    to forestall any questions. The air shimmered, and then he and  
    Beverly were in her room. After tenderly laying her in the bed and  
    tucking the sheets around her, Jean-Luc brushed a kiss over her  
    forehead and left after replicating a new uniform for himself. 
     
    *** 
     
    Jean-Luc was just finishing off his morning croissant when the door  
    chimed, freezing his coffee cup halfway to his lips. /It can't be.../ but  
    who else would come by his quarters so early? Swallowing down  
    nervousness, he spoke. 
     
    "Come." 
     
    It was indeed a slightly tousled and wild-eyed Beverly. She hesitated  
    a moment on his threshold, then stepped in with the determined air  
    of a condemned prisoner about to face execution. 
     
    "Jean-Luc, we have to talk about what happened yesterday," she  
    announced firmly, only her wringing hands betraying anxiety as she  
    waited for his response. 
     
    Tentatively, he gestured to her usual seat. "Won't you join me?" he  
    asked quietly, knowing she would understand more than the words  
    themselves. A slow, brilliant smile rewarded the overture as she sat  
    down with him. Almost instinctively, they reached out to each other,  
    hands clasping. 
     
    "I was just so afraid this would hurt our friendship," she confessed.  
    His hand tightened on hers. 
     
    "No, Beverly. I value our relationship far too much to let a bizarre...   
    accident ruin it." A faint blush tinged her cheeks at his words; he  
    smiled gently. "Friends?" he offered lightly. 
     
    "Friends." Their eyes met warmly. After a last squeeze of her hand,  
    the captain rose and crossed to the replicator, bringing back a cup of  
    coffee for her. 
     
    Crossing back to the table, he asked, "There _is_ something I was  
    curious about." 
     
    "Oh??" Setting the cup in front of her, Picard missed the  
    apprehensive look she gave him. 
     
    "Yes -- 'concentrated extract of kamireh'? Why would you have  
    something like that lying about in Sickbay?" As he took his seat, he  
    finally noticed the guilty flush coloring her face. 
     
    "Oh, um, for... for research," she stammered nervously. 
     
    Suspicion gleamed in his eyes. "Exactly what *kind* of research?" he  
    asked, voice hard. 
     
    Poor Beverly looked even more worried. "Well, uhm, stimulus- 
    response! Yes, that's it." 
     
    "And who were you planning to use as a _subject_ for this little  
    experiment?!"  
     
    One look at his dangerous expression and Beverly wisely kept her  
    mouth shut. Jean-Luc had already realized the truth, though. 
     
    "You were going to use it on me, weren't you?!!" he snapped, leaping  
    to his feet. "I can't *believe* you actually planned something so, so  
    inexcusable!" Beverly sank into her chair, trying to look small as he  
    furiously paced the length of the room. "What were you planning to  
    do, keep me fastened down and watch as I went through torment?" 
     
    "No! Of course not, Jean-Luc! How could you even think such a  
    thing?" she cried indignantly. 
     
    He stared at her. "Well then, how *were* you planning to handle the  
    situation -- by making love to me?" Silence reigned for a few  
    moments, her shamefaced look answer enough. His jaw dropped. 
     
    "You-- you...!" he spluttered incoherently. "Beverly!" 
     
    She stood to face him, eyes snapping. "Alright, Jean-Luc Picard!  
    Exactly *what* about yesterday didn't you like?" she demanded. 
     
    Now it was his turn to blush. "That's not the point," he muttered. 
     
    "Oh? Well, I didn't notice you complaining any then! I suppose it was  
    alright for you to take advantage of _my_ exposure to the kamireh,  
    but not the other way around?" 
     
    "Wha-- *I* was TIED DOWN! By *you*, if you recall!" Picard exploded.  
    "You deliberately planned the whole thing to... to seduce me! Admit  
    it!" 
     
    Beverly fidgeted uncomfortably. "So?" she said defiantly. 
     
    Jean-Luc blinked. /She really *did* plan to seduce me!/ A wicked  
    smile slowly curved his lips as he thought about the implications of  
    that.  
     
    "So..." he said slowly, "I think this calls for some... discipline." 
     
    THE END 
    


End file.
